


Understanding Love Through a Singing Forest

by YlviscestAnon



Category: Ylvis
Genre: AU, Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Dissociation, F/M, Finished, M/M, Major Character Injury, Mutually Unrequited, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Suicide Attempt, Winter War, World War II, self injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-10
Updated: 2014-10-06
Packaged: 2018-01-15 06:58:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 19
Words: 46,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1295701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YlviscestAnon/pseuds/YlviscestAnon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vegard comes back a changed man after helping the Finnish resistance in 1939-40 with physical and mental injuries. Bård is confused and struggles with helping him and continuing his normal life, as they both struggle with unrequited feelings for each other. Eventually Bård gets a wife and starts a family, and even though Vegard lives with them, it only increases the tension between them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. “There is hope, but not for us.”

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Humbae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Humbae/gifts).



> time piece, I dunno what I’m doing lalala - no nazis, my interest in WWII is more ‘bad Russians invading' trope but it's not so much the story as much as the aftereffects are - au where Vegard is leaving to help the Finnish resistance, ylvsicest unrequited and later -requited?, warnings for later character injury, gore, and ptsd; not in depth historical or anything, an this part was written mainly without wifi so„,
> 
> inspired partially by the book GRAVES WITHOUT CROSSES by arved viirlaid

There was a shine to Vegard’s uniform, one that his younger brother figured would get dirty eventually, it had to. But for now, the clothes fit well, and everything was just fine - until Vegard’s deployment soon, to Finland, to help stave off the Russians there.

Why he would be going to some eastern European country, why he wanted to, it was something that Bård didn’t know. He noticed ever since his brother came back though, there was something different about him, something that was relentlessly changed to the younger brother. He seemed almost paranoid, his natural black curls stuck down with pomade, stuck beneath a cap with a shining emblem.

Of course Vegard was old enough to join the military, but Bård was not. He could have always forged his information like so many thousands had done, but a part of him didn’t want to - he’d be heading to university soon if all went right, but the war that was raging a few countries beneath them worried him.

After all, their family were simple folk - and their other brother was too young to know what was going on, he just obliviously would play with his toys and not know the realities of the situation going on around them.

The family ate in silence that night though, they ate very modestly, but it was almost like a celebration that their son had come back from his training - and in the morning they’d have oats with precious jam, but there was so much to be done and said in the meantime.

They lived in a small cabin, even though it seemed just big enough for all of them - and there would be an empty space without Vegard. After dinner Bård sneaked out to the small shed though and watched his brother clean his hair of gel, he watched his brother unbutton the uniform slowly - and for a moment, it looked like Vegard had caught him peeping. There was just a clenching in his heart, like the sour taste of lingonberries - the taste of something so sour you had to sweeten it with clumps of sugar.

They had bathed together before, sure, but this was something different and he carefully watched the other man’sshirt come off, his shiny belt buckle undoing the strip of leather, and… why did his brother have to sign up for the military? It was unfair. He’d be abandoning his brothers, his family, but Bård slowly got the feeling in his stomach that he felt only when he was around his young sweetheart.

These were not the sort of feelings he should be having about his brother, but the thoughts fleeted through his mind - the dark wisps of hair on Vegard’s chest, the dark curled wisps below his bellybutton leading down to… His brother was a Finnish boy now though, someone who was going to lay it all down on the line for someone else.

Slowly, he came in the room, peering in at first, as Vegard’s back was turned, wondering if he could get the other to talk to him. Vegard immediately turned to attention, he was hyper-vigilant, he had seemed so ever since his military training. Bård suppose if he was told he could suspect the enemy to come out of the trees at any time, he would be too.

"What do you want?"

There was still the sort of dryness to the air, something between the two brothers that there was just nothing that really could be said. Something in Bård’s mind called to mind all the sad goodbyes he’d made in his life, and he knew this wouldn’t last forever, but this would be the hardest.

"Going to miss you," his Norwegian was curt and to the point, and Vegard smiled, hiding the pain in his eyes instead. He looked back to Bård, the smile still present, and a vision came to his mind of being children and sharing the same bed together. The way he could hear every breath, everything like that. He didn’t want to miss out on his family either, but he had no family of his own yet, and a young man’s instincts to shoot something happened to be strong and what was going on through his head was that he could help out in a country that needed it.

"You won’t even be miss me the second, third day at all, don’t worry about it." He brushed it off, his eyes downcast, trying to lose his faith in the feelings he had.

The truth was he had felt so much for Bård - the kid was only three years younger, and he felt so much of a need to look after him. Whenever Bård was in trouble at school, the teachers were used to Vegard giving him a stern talking to rather than their parents, but then - they didn’t know, but of course afterward there would be laughter and jest about the situation that had gone on. Bård was the class clown, he  
was always in trouble for something or another.

But now he had to leave - and he felt he had to leave, relocate, find somewhere else to go and could no longer call home home anymore. Bård had found himself a girlfriend not long before he enlisted in the military, someone else, someone new to laugh at his jokes…

If Bård was someone else, if Bård was a nice blonde haired girl with the same pretty eyes and happy smile, he’d be glad to tell her that he was enamored with her. But as the case was, he wasn’t, and most of all, they were brothers. Nothing could be done about that.

"I think I’ll still think about you, still worry about you, hell, you’re my flesh and blood, I’ll always feel this way to you."

How foolish was it that Vegard wanted to take the words in a specific way, how he wanted the other to be declaring his love, that he’d never leave because of the love they had and the bond - and he’d give Vegard some token to take to war, a heavily perfumed handkerchief, something lace and special that had meant a lot to her. Vegard Ylvisåker was no homosexual, he didn’t think, but if there was one man…

He slid into the tub, looking pointedly at his brother. He just had no idea what was going on, but the water was already starting to get cold from their extended time spent staring at each other.

"I’ll see you again. I’ll write."

"It’s going to be war out there, and you don’t have to do this."

It was the truth, but Vegard wanted to run as far from his feelings away that he could. A free trip to Finland sounded like a good destination, and he brazenly smiled at the other, this time managing to hide most of the pain. His eyes were duller though, not as much life were in them, but…

"I’ll see you before you even know it again. There will be military leave, there will be an end to it all. Don’t worry."

The other man felt he had to force the same sort of smile on his face, and he tilted his head to look away.

"You need to come back in one piece."

"I promise that I will." He sunk his arms down low and held his arms around his knees, a stray strand of curls coming down and facing over his eyes.

\- - -

They called him Ylvis in the army, something they had called aqis father - but there was no time to dwell on such things.

Finland was so different, everything about it - everywhere around him, he heard Finnish, which he could barely understand… it sounded so foreign and strange to him, but the other language he heard the most of was either Swedish or German. The Swedish was no problem, and the German he could easily catch up on.

But the actual turn to the eastern front and the war and the fighting - it was something that no amounts of military training could have prepared him for. Ylvisåker had never really been shot at before, he never cared to experience the feeling, yet here it ended up being, happening before his very eyes. The Finnish men were efficient and good at what they did, hiding out in the woods and hitting their targets.

The first time Vegard started to realize it was effecting him badly, well, he would drink strong bootleg Finnish vodka offered to him at night camped up in a supposedly safe situation and he’d find himself angry and searching around. Sometimes, the encampment would be infringed on, they’d be attacked and they’d always have their arms at their side, their weapons available, and he had more than once had to slide a knife and slash it around madly for his life.

The thought of being covered in blood, being covered in the warm, metallic liquid - it was something that had happened, and something he frequently thought of after that. The way the warmth would seep in through his clothes, and then it would hit him and he would realize he was covered in the blood of a real human being.

The thought never occurred to him to become a deserter, although there were men who did. He didn’t even know the consequences for those who ran away, although he knew if they were caught something couldn’t be good in store for them.

'Ylvis' as he came to be known was good though, good at what he was supposed to do. He was a natural at hiding away in the forests and brush and he was a natural at shooting - though living in the mountains outside of Bergen tended to do that to you. He started off in his group by cracking jokes, being the kind of man that he always was, but by the near end of it all, he could barely force a smile - much less tell a joke.

It was when he was shot in the leg during an ambush that ended it for him, that sent him packing his small belongings back home. Someone had given him vodka for the pain, splashed vodka on the injury - but he’d probably always have a limp. He remembered the field surgery, the attempts to jam a Russian bullet out of his leg.

The entire time he had been thinking, his father, his father had been known as Ylvis. What would they have called Bård if the younger sibling had been here? What was going on with their mother or with Bjarte? He had been gone a fair while - was Bård married now? Sure he had written letters back home, but he was always on the move, he never got one in return.

He wanted so desperately to see those blue eyes - the mischievous sort of fox-like curve Bård’s lips had to his smile. The strong jaw, the swiped back dirty blond hair - all of it, he missed it all so needfully, it was the only thing keeping him from fading off in to something else.

The turn of the war would surely be in the Finn’s favor - at least he knew that much, at least he was leaving with most of the Russians pushed out of the country from battles and fights. He was glad this was going to be the case, but he knew getting home to the outskirts of Bergen - it would be a long trip, especially now with his essentially crippled leg. What would everyone say?

It wasn’t as if he was a coward an wanted out - he couldn’t have helped it, Ivan had come up right behind him and got his leg deeply - the eldest Ylvisåker brother had never felt such pain, but the angelic face of a blond angel kept coming to his mind.

He’d have to go back to Bergen now - a military discharge that was honorable was on his horizon quickly after the hospital, he even got a medal or two for his service. He was stuck, though, so stuck, not wanting to go back home - not to Bård, he didn’t want Bård to see him with the knobby walking stick he had to carry around now.

His leg would never be the same - not something he knew right now, but not something he foresaw easily changing in the future. Just as he thought maybe being away from his brother would change his feelings, at least make them less evident…

But he’d be going back to it, back to the old situation he’d been in, and he didn’t even realize he’d be going back a changed man.

\- - -

When he came back though, even before he saw his brother hobble, he knew that there was something different. They had gotten a letter about his brother’s injury, the fact he’d be going home… He had no idea Vegard, Ylvis, had thought about getting a train ticket back somewhere else besides Bergen - but where else was safe to go at this turbulent  
time?

Their parents were gone at the time, their brother was with them - and he had been preparing dinner, but when he saw through the window a man holding a stick with a duffel bag over his shoulders, he almost dropped the bowl he was working on.

He hesitantly went to the door, his hair longer, his height taller - but he checked through the window again, before he flung the door open and ran out.

"Vegard!"

There was something within the brother that froze, something that made him tense as the other put a hand on him and looked him over; there was something quiet going on between then. There was no way the other had been returned to him in one piece, but there was also no way that he was that badly injured, right?

"They didn’t give us many details," He bemoaned, closing his eyes and placing one hand on the carved out stick. He could feel the pressure that Vegard was pushing onto it, the fact that he had to do so was horrible. He wouldn’t see the wound until later, puckered and larger than a hospital wound would have been.

Vegard’s voice was caught in his throat, and he smiled, trying to find a way to talk. There was just nothing much he could say, the deed had already been done - and he placed his other hand on Bård’s shoulder, nodding his head.

"Not many details to give. Just can’t be a good soldier if you can’t march, right?"

It tore a piece of Bård apart - it really did, it felt like a physical piece of him was being ripped away. He decided to try and follow Vegard’s smile, looking at him the way only a brother could, only the way that a person could when they had the utmost love and respect for someone.

"You’ll get better, right?"

And it was his responsibility as the older brother to say yes - that there was no other chance here. He stuck the stick forward, past Bård, and he let his arms - both of them, one still stuck to the stick, but he let both of his arms rest around Bård’s body. The other was mildly shocked by this, but he returned the hug, the security he once felt in his brother’s arms feeling like vulnerability.

\- - -

Bård would help him dress the wound - even though he felt bad, digging in to pieces of his brother’s flesh and making sure the flesh was thoroughly cleaned. It fell on him to do, after all, they always had a connection - this sort of unspoken bond that no one in their family could comprehend, that no one questioned. These days, it seemed they were being left alone more and more, but the worst part was always cleaning Vegard’s wound…

Actually, that was until the brothers went back to sleeping in the same room. Sometimes Vegard’s shouts would wake the entire cabin, sometimes he’d just murmur and rapid-fire instructions in languages Bård didn’t understand. He knew that at these times, he wanted to reach out and do something for the other, but… what could he do? Certainly not actually reach out and touch the other man, it’d be inappropriate - even if part of him was beginning to think the other wouldn’t mind being touched.

What could he really do for his brother? He didn’t want to do anything until the other told him so, until the other reached out for him, until the other grasped for him and gasped his name.

There was really nothing that could be done for the nightmares, nothing that could be done for Vegard.

He couldn’t imagine what Vegard was going through, the fact that every time he looked around the surrounding woods, every time he saw the sun reflecting off the white snow, every time he heard a crack of anything that could be a gun - it happened, sometimes, after all, in the woods. It could just happen in an instant and he’d be back, feel the metal of the gun in his hand - even things sometimes like the crunch of snow beneath his boots, he’d be right back there.

Vegard needed his brother, more than he needed something to lean on to walk. He depended on the other, sometimes even leaned on him a bit to walk when days were really bad - and Bård let him, he had grown taller over the course of his brother being gone. He was taller than the other now, and though it felt weird, he was willing to accept this as fact.

But Bård never brought it up - he never mentioned it, how everyone expected him to get married soon. How everyone was waiting for him to move on to his own household - he didn’t want to shock Vegard, he didn’t want to bring forth the reality of how long Vegard had really been gone for. It was just one of those things that he didn’t want to announce.


	2. I watched your eyes widen at the thought of forever.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time eventually passes by, and not much changes with Vegard, but Bård’s life moves on

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My illness has me very fatigued so I had part of this written out and partially had to depend on the correction tool as my eyes were half closed... oTL
> 
> FICTIONAL!!! wife and kid in the story!

But of course, with the passing of time, it was inevitable - and Bård was going to marry a pretty young blonde lady, probably have children… and their parents both had the blessings for the marriage, the moment, the age they were marriageable. After all, there would be no university for Bård, it was more important that he get married to someone with a family that had quite a lot of land to their names. There was a tightness to Vegard’s chest when he heard the news, something that dropped, and the very same piece of Bård hurt on the inside as well.

They planned to move to a small farm, just something to test to see if they could handle living the life, and as the strength in Vegard’s leg - well, as it was beginning to improve, as much as it could, but Bård selfishly wanted to steal Vegard away as well. He begged with his new fiance, he begged with his new wife, all to ask please, let Vegard come and live with them. They had three rooms, and surely there was space for the other man.

Bård didn’t even know if he loved his knew wife when they were married - he was worried about sex, about having children and the entirety of everything else. He didn’t particularly want to make little Ylvisåkers himself, he just… He imagined his brother as a girl, with long flowing locks and.. He’d be more beautiful than the village girl wife he had taken on, surely. It wasn’t even that he was imagining her as particularly stunning, but at least then, their love wouldn’t be so taboo, would it?

And if they weren’t related, there was always that little impending fact looming over their heads.

\- - -

A few years passed by. The youngest Ylvisåker would go to work in the mornings, tending to the area around them, and Vegard would put in as much help as he could. The wound had long ago closed, but it had damaged tissue, muscle, vessels, it had damaged deep in his leg and every so much he walked, he would have to stop walking.

But Bard couldn’t look at his brother with pity, it was just absolutely out of the question. He looked at his brother as someone who was trying his hardest despite the circumstances facing him. When Vegard had heard the Finns had successfully pushed the Russians all the way back so many years ago, he had smiled and there was a certain kind of sadness in his eyes pointing to the fact that he felt he should have been there to celebrate with them.

And Bård’s wife, she tended to a baby for him, a baby that took quite a while to procreate, but the young love everyone thought was there wasn’t quite actually there on Bård’s side.

The war had even ended eventually, and they felt safe and comfortable - things slowed down, and they even branched out on their little farm. From Vegard’s room at night though, he could still hear the murmurs or gasps from his brother in the tiny little cabin.

But it was a way that people lived, it was something that he was going to have to deal with after being a part of the war. He didn’t talk about it, he didn’t like to talk about it, Bård could hear and see the tremble and numbness in his brother’s voice and eyes whenever the subject was brought

up. Therefore, they kept it without talking about it, hid it away like a locked up trinket; whenever it was brought out to air it had a poisonous odor to it.

Vegard was happy for his brother, he really was. He knew that they would be having a child eventually, one day, as all couples did. They made the trek then more often to visit their parents so the parents could fawn over the impending child and the growing stomach.

Vegard and Bård spoke less and less, and there was sort of an anger to Vegard that Bård didn’t understand - he didn’t know why his brother was different, he didn’t understand why his brother slept with a knife and service revolver under his pillow.

Once in town though, even though he had very little money to be spending on such things, Bård bought Vegard a guitar. It was worn already but the wood was good and sturdy, but he just regretted so much that he had Vegard so close yet they were so separated.

When he came home, he found Vegard eating some gruel, and the other barely acknowledged his presence. It seemed that hatred was always a step ahead what was going on, but he called attention out for Vegard.

"Look, brother, I found something you may like."

Vegard looked back to him and there was shock, surprise, even maybe a hint of happiness in his eyes. He cocked his head, curious at the instrument he couldn’t play in Bård’s hands, and he stood up from the wooden chair and head to Bård’s direction.

"Really, what - what made you think?"

He looked up at the taller man, and there was just something, something there that made him decide he had done the right decision. Bård smiled, handing over the guitar.

"Weren’t you supposed to be off buying meat?"

"A mere random miracle happened instead, and I found this."

He placed a hand on Vegard’s shoulder, as the other took the instrument with his spare hand. It just felt to him that the other need to be doing something with his hands, something besides helping out on the farm and work with his rough hands.

"Thank you, but - why?"

"Why not?"

That was probably the best response he was ever going to get, so he ended up shrugging and running his thumb along the strings of the instrument. They didn’t know they had found a treasure, something that would end up helping the eldest Ylvisåker brother open up.

\- - -

Closer to the end of the pregnancy, Vegard suggested heavily they get a guard dog to watch over things, and his fingers had become quite swift and skilled at the guitar. The music would fill the small home, even though it started off quite warbling and horrible. It was just that he worried, he worried a lot since the farm wasn’t so close to the house, since the land in the mountains themselves would be quite poor.

But they ended up finding two Norwegian buhunds, one with a white crested face and a dusky and dark blond along the rest of his coat an a dark chocolate one.

Bård would never insist though that he got the two because they reminded him of him and his brother as children, the way the smaller pups played with each other. There was quite a ways for the pups to grow, but they would become loyal and protective to their family.

\- - -

They named their little girl Ingrid, and not only did Vegard take on to the guitar, but he took very well to the dogs as well. There was just something about having an animal or two close to you - and he knew he couldn’t coddle them too much, but he ended up coddling them as much as he could.

When he was working, he forgot. When he was playing with the dogs, he forgot. When he feigned - yet a part of him was entirely genuine - expressions of happiness and joy about the child, he could work through the pain the war had imprinted on him.

But the pain only tightened when he thought about his brother, when he thought about things that could never happen between them. He’d see Ingrid grow up, surely, but… Eventually, he would have to have a talk with Bård, wouldn’t he?

Or he wouldn’t, he could take the secret with him to the grave, but as every day grew on - he could soon play the tune of anything he heard by ear, he was soon making his own tunes, Ingrid was soon making her own words in their native Norwegian - it was an amazing sight, the miracle of a child was truly something else, but part of Vegard…. part of Vegard was angry and upset that he wasn’t the one who was able to have the family with Bård.

And after so many years still, he still didn’t know where that anger was coming from. He knew that from time to time he had fantasies about Bård being a girl – and nothing about his personality would change, it would just be his looks, it would just be his blond locks long enough to weave into a braid and curl over his forehead. It was enough to make him angry though, even though it wasn’t the source of all of his anger.

He had really believed, he had believed with the time that had passed and with the passing of the war and everything that he would be able to get past the pain that he always felt. There was something when he ended up playing guitar that he just let the anger inside of him die down. As he had said before, as he had justified and told himself and said so many times before to himself, he was not a homosexual – and he didn’t want to whine about it, but a part of him thought maybe if he could wrap his arms around in ot Bård;s, if he could get the other man to hold him, properly hold him, all would be fine

That’s not to say that a mental illness could just be cured by love, but it was to say in this era, in this time, no one knew anything about mental disorders. There would be no buspiron for his psychological distress, for the periods when he was angry or anxious or anything like that. There would be no clonidine for when he couldn’t sleep at night, when the nightmares were too much. He just had to deal with it ‘like a man’, even though when the Germans came through the country -

oh, they had been impressed with Vegard’s vision and his accuracy, they wanted to put him in planes and have him bomb the Russians to the best of his abilities now that the relationships beteen the two of them had soured.

But it was the physical feats, Vegard couldn’t handle them – he was underweight, too much so, too lanky and a military uniform in a standard size now fell off of him in a way that suggested he barely ate anything It was the truth, too, and after one night of him waking up screaming in Denmark in a screaming flail, grabbing for a weapon, trying to grab for a weapon and trying to use something as one to fight attackers that weren’t there – well, the leg thing, he could have still been a pilot with the leg thing, but not with the never ending pain and misery that everything seemed to cause him.

So Vegard would pour his soul in to this guitar, in secret even, when Bård’s wife and him were gone, whether or not they took Ingrid was only a slight inconvenience. He didn’t need an audience, but the little girl brightly would smile and cheer.

She would never know, the vivid songs were melodies for her father, they were verses and songs that expressed sorrow and love and loss and they were the only outlet that Vegard had. He felt he could try to write down his feelings, express what he was actually going through on paper, but he was shy, he didn’t want anyone to know or find out about it and with his luck the entire world would somehow end up knowing.

She loved her uncle Vegard though, and she had large blue eyes like Bård – and the aging man felt such great sorrow when he looked at them. He didn’t know that when they were alone, Bård and his wife would argue in hushed whispers, that there would be arguments and fights and everything else because of the fact that they wanted no one else to hear.

Vegard would take his niece sometimes, just in case, he had sensitive ears and the things babes could hear – he would take her outside and play music for her, teach her Norwegian songs, try and remember the songs that their parents had taught him and were in the process of teaching Bjarte when he left. She could go to school soon, and maybe she would be more than just a little village girl. Vegard had such high hopes for her, Vegard had such a love for her – as if she was his little girl, and he felt the need to protect her as no one else he felt was capable of doing.

Bård was getting increasingly frustrated though, with the fact that he had to live his life the way that he did – he wanted to give everything up, live his life with himself in Vegard’s bed, give up the entire domestic family life that he had built for himself and get to somewhere with Vegard.

Besides, he still felt he could help his brother – he felt his brother still needed help. It was almost 1950, and as the century was about to turn gain, he couldn’t believe Vegard had been living this way for nearly ten years – a general recluse, when it came to him or to his wife, except to Ingrid, whom he could seem almost normal to.

And what Bård wanted was the other to be normal again, the way that he was before he went away to war, and there was just no changing him now – but one of these days,he was going to run away with Vegard, and he’d find a way to fix the broken man.

\- - -

He knew he was a man with responsibilities, but he scrimped and saved and he managed to hire two men to watch over the farm while he was gone – he was going to do it, he was going to take Vegard into the mountains and talk with him.

Bård had to kiss his wife goodbye – he had to sternly tell the men to protect them, and it was almost heartbreaking for him to hug his daughter goodbye just the way it was for him to watch Vegard pet and hug the two dogs goodbye. He supposed they both has children in a way, even though Bård was unsure if the dogs were Vegard’s children, or if his guitar was Vegard’s child. Either way, they would be off soon, and they had packed plenty of smoked meat to take along with them

Bård wanted to use this trip to confess – the blond wanted to finally get things off of his chest. Vegard wasn’t the only one with mental weights on his mind, he was dealing with things himself due to the fact that hiding things for so long was unhealthy.

Although he had no idea where they were going, the brothers were both familiar with hiking in the mountains. The autumn air would swirl around them, and the tension between them felt like there was just this thin thin line that couldn’t be crossed, or else something would happen.

They slept outside, they looked up at the stars, they enjoyed the crisp nights together but the fact that Vegard had a knife strapped to his leg at all times worried Bård.

“I’ve missed you.” And Bård would lay on his side, look down at his elder brother, not care that some hair was getting in front of his face. He meant it, he meant that he missed Vegard from the moment that he had first talked to the other at the start of the troubles, since the other had disappeared and had reappeared with a busted leg and a broken conscious.

“I’ve lived with you for years, Bård.”

Vegard on the other hand was going to be a realist, he was going to shoot down every chance at inane romantic type of offerings Bård did have to offer. Bård Ylvisåker leaned down and rested his face against Vegard’s shoulder, he let his hand rest on the other man’s leg, feeling the strap that kept the knife sheathed, feeling the spasm the muscles underneath gave from the old war injury.

“You’ve always meant so much to me, though.” He ventured, and he wanted to admit to the other so much what he meant by everything. On the other hand, the raven haired man was so blind that he wasn’t going to buy it and he was going to continue thinking that Bård didn’t mean it in the way that he wanted Bård to mean it at.

He smiled. What else could he do but smile? Bård could see everything so clearly, the night was so crisp and clear out, not a cloud in the sky currently to obscure the view of his brother’s face. It was almost as if time didn’t happen, as if the aging didn’t happen, as if Vegard wasn’t in his thirties now, as if he wasn’t his own self, as if he didn’t have his own family to think about….

The younger Ylvisåker wanted to kiss him. He wanted to kiss ‘Ylvis’, he wanted all those feelings he had had since a teenager to go away in one phantasmal melting away type of kiss. Part of him though, he just knew it wasn’t what his brother needed – but he clenched the fabric of Vegard’s jeans and imagined it was just them two, that his own family didn’t exist, well….

Vegard was his family, though,and he just thought all he needed was the other.

He fell asleep like that though, Bård did. Holding on to Vegard, after all was said and done, after the century they had endured together, eight years of it living together and breathing together and eating together and cohabiting and – Vegard felt the pang of neediness in his heart, and he stroked back Bård’s hair, he placed a hand on Bård’s back, he rubbed and he felt like a part of him had been robbed.

If only that Russian hadn’t got him, if only he could live life like everything was normal, if only everything was normal and he didn’t have these feelings –

then Vegard Ylvisåker may not have been beating himself up right that moment.


	3. In theory there is a possibility of perfect happiness (...)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vegard and Bård go camping, alone, and some confessions come out Not very many. Tiny baby steps, but confessions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> perkele is used here, and I don’t know if I explained that before or if I even used it before and had to explain it, but it’s Finnish, similar to helvete (which you should know if you’re in Scandinavian fandoms), and shouting out the word would be a way Finnish volunteers would recognize each other… but it’d seep into their usual vocabulary too I’d imagine... short chapter.

He would call Bård a coward as a joke as he usually did, owing to the fact that the other happened to apply as a conscientious objector and had did some civil service in lieu of any time in the military. It was just something that he joked around about immensely, given that his brother could have gone to war, the real bad parts of the war and… he probably would have been hurt worse than he was, he probably would have no brother but Bjarte left.

There was no way that he would have let that happen, he would have hid his brother away the best that he could have if it had come down to it and he was lucky that none of his family really had to get involved other than help supply war efforts…

When he woke up, Bård was still holding on to him, and he realized that the other was clenching the knife – he swept the fingers away, got Bård to hold on to his khaki camouflage pants instead, but surely there were things going through the young man’s mind. And there were – Bård was thinking, hoping, wishing almost the opposite.

That he had been there, that they could have been the two Ylvis’, that he could have grabbed the Russian before he hurt his brother –

The taste of blood that he got in his dreams was next to nothing than what Vegard usually faced. At night, Vegard usually had taken to drinking a very bitter cup of tea with crushed up valerian root in it, and while it helped calm his nerves, it helped calm his muscles, it was much too potent to drink during the day.

But maybe he should speak to a doctor about it, one of these days, he thought, even though he didn’t like to speak. Maybe he could be prescribed a heart tonic, something just to slow him down with the infrequent attacks came.

Vegard – Ylvis – he woke up and got up, gathering a bunch of the things that they’d need during the day. They had taken smoked sausage with them to eat, so even if they couldn’t catch anything or at least in the mornings, they would have food. And he was too tired to go hunting in the mornings.

But Bård’s wife – she was a lovely lady, didn’t he just think so? He felt bad for thinking so, as if there was some taboo communication between the two of them – even though she was the type of blonde with a braid that he always imagined his blond brother would have turned out to be. She would always smile at him, treat him nice, she would always get on to Bård if she thought Bård was insulting him or treating him too harshly – which was nearly always, but they had a repertoire, him and Bård did together, to just go back and forth like this.

And it wasn’t that Bård was lazy, Bård was normally the man of the house, the first to wake up, but he couldn’t seem to rise this morning – the blood filled war dreams were traumatizing to him, just if they were only dreams, and once he did rise and woke, he was in wonderment with how if maybe this was the type of dreaming that Vegard went through every night, the dreams that made him shake and shudder.

But the smell of smoked pork hit his nostrils, and he got up and walked over to the clearing, yawning. He sat down alongside the fire, smiling to Vegard, even if his eyes betrayed a moment of fear where his recurring dreams meant he once couldn’t save the other and he’d been covered in his own family’s blood.

“Morning, there. “

“Morning, you slept late.”

It was true, it was very true, but he just smiled and pushed through it all, leaning down on his shoes and kneeling, checking out by the fire exactly what it was his brother was doing even though he could already tell by the smell. He looked to Vegard, offered a smile, even though the other was much more focused with poking the two larger sized sausages around on a stick.

“I sort of did, yes. Sorry about that. How about you? How did you sleep?”

He really didn’t have to consider that one, given the fact that he didn’t dream at all through the night – that made it a good night’s rest in his books. He had been planning on sleeping horribly without the self concocted tea he would drink every night, but he just nodded, the tiniest of smiles on his lips.

“Fine. Mostly gray noise. You know, when you sleep, but you don’t really dream. When it’s all nice and blank.”

And Bård could empathize to a degree, although he couldn’t really – sure, he had nightmares before, but the worst ones surely had just been when he was out camping with Vegard and had the chance to hold him and keep him close and…. it was something to consider, surely, but he just nodded and acted along.

“I slept alright as well. I thought of maybe bringing Ingrid to Sweden next year, when she’s a little older, down south, where they have plenty of flowers that bloom in spring…” He murmured, still looking down.

It wasn’t something that he wanted to think about right now, but if it would throw Vegard off of the trail, he would say anything. After all, Vegard was trained to pick up on little hints and – even if it had been almost a decade it did, when it had come to his troop he could establish the mental status of each man in it, and he gave Bård a firm smile.

“How did you really sleep? Surely not of Ingrid, with the facial expressions you were making.”

And Bård didn’t want to break. He didn’t think of himself as weak – even though he may not have had any military training, he didn’t want to think of himself as weak. He leaned over and nudged the elder brother, looking at him, giving him a look, and he grinned.

“Were you watching me?”

“Always be mindful of everything around you.”

“Come on, Vegard. You can’t be concerned.”

“I’m a little concerned – look, when you said don’t bring the service gun, we’ll have rifles to hunt, I didn’t bring the service gun. But you felt the knife through my pants, and you held it, all night, you are lucky you didn’t jerk and clench, that it didn’t cut through and…”

Curls were obscuring the eldest Ylvisåker’s eyes. He didn’t look like he wanted to go in depth about this, but he looked like a fox cornered by a bunch of hunting dogs.

“I was just…. I just dreamt, is all. It was harmless. I was thinking what would it have been like if we’d been in service together.”

That was something that made Vegard turn his head and look away, because it wouldn’t have been pretty He had thought about it often himself, and he had deduced he would have been way too busy too often looking out for Bård that they both likely would have died – well early in to their volunteer service.

“Was it a good dream, or a bad dream?”

There was a far away look in Bård’s eyes, but a softened look had come over Vegard’s as he asked the question. The younger of the two wanted to answer softly, delicately, and he smiled and placed a hand on Vegard’s knee.

“I saved you. That’s all I ever wanted to do.”

It was way too much emotion, it was too much feeling, Vegard’s softened expression not stopping his wound from hurting. It felt not like getting shot again, but more like the wound was being dug in to in order to get fixed, and he just couldn’t handle it. He looked at Bård sheepishly, with a sigh, knowing the other could have never saved him. He had put himself in that situation, in that place where he could and had been hurt, but…

“Do you ever wish, Vegard, that we could just run away and live the two of us, together?”

Panic overtook Vegard, and he almost wanted to lash out violently – not almost wanted to lash out, he did want to lash out He wanted Bård’s hand off of him, he forgot to turn the sausage – the skin was starting to pop open – but he looked to Bård and wondered how he could answer that question, when that was what he ran away to Finland to avoid.

“Perkele. Bård, don’t you have a wife? And you have Ingrid, yet listen to you hear, talking crazy. What, do you think we’d—” and he had to pause, but – “run away like lovers or something? I just. Bård.”

The idea really didn’t sound too bad to Bård, it just sounded too bad to him that it was getting shot down. The smile on his face tried to stay with kindness, but he laughed lightly and grabbed the stick from Vegard, turning the sausage for him.

“It was just a question. You don’t – you didn’t have to say yes or anything. I was just asking.”

And he’d swear on the king and the crown how he wanted to say yes, and – perkele, he’d never been able to stop saying that Finnish word, they even didn’t really want him to say it around Ingrid but he had fucking earned it, it was his honor, his badge to carry, and they told Ingrid she couldn’t say it until she was much older and could marry boys, but….

Vegard Ylvisåker decided to tell the truth for once in his life, this July 28th, and he closed his eyes, his mouth dry, his throat tightening.

“Once I start saying yes to this and that, you’ll ask why I never said so sooner, you’ll ask why I ran off and – Bård, I love you, but I was trying to avoid just this.”

Just the type of words to shock Bård and make his heart sink to his stomach.


	4. (...) To believe in the indestructible element within one, and not to strive towards it.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bård hunts a buck, Vegard hunts himself metaphorically - harming himself in a fit of rage and dissociation while alone, though.

They didn’t talk much about it after that – even though it was something that they should have been talking about, Bård just wanted to feel upon his lips the taste of Vegard’s, though he knew that was far from happening. Vegard kept taking swigs of aquavit from a flask he kept in his side, near the knife, and they both decided later during the day that they should go and try to do something about hunting if they were going to be both out here for a few days. They’d come back for each other, of course, eventually, but…

Bård’s thoughts as he went out into the forest kept traveling into how he could get rid of his wife and kid, how he could…. well, he couldn’t, a decent man could never do that, but he wanted to be away from them and he wanted to be with Vegard. He just didn’t know how these things were going to happen.

Maybe if they just kept it to the days his wife was with her parents, but it was not as if her parents would be around forever, it wasn’t a solidified enough excuse….

And he’d never want to leave his little daughter, he could give her the world, after all.. His daughter loved the both of them very much, and he was pretty sure that kidnapping her and taking her on a trip with Vegard where they never expected to return would be rather frowned upon as well.

There was no easy solution to this problem, and he just wanted Vegard and him to stay out in these woods for as long as they could, even though they couldn’t, not unless they built a little cabin or something.

But he rolled up the sleeves of his plaid shirt and half buried himself in leaves up pretty high, waiting for a deer to come by. One or two had, but they hadn’t been big enough. He kept thinking of Vegard – what could save him? There were nerve pills, but he saw the kind of side effects people on nerve pills ended up having around that time.

No wonder though, why he had never pursued a family of his own, why he had never sought after a wife. It was because he was already close to the person that he loved –

and Bård was a rather good shot, especially for someone who did civil service, and he knew that Vegard would be proud of the buck that he had taken down. He had a knife of his own, and he wondered even, would Vegard sully his knife in such a way to field dress a deer, or? He probably would, to get the job done, that was the point at the end of the day, wasn’t it?

But he took out a knife and slashed the animal from neck to belly, hung it from a tree, draped out the innards and pulled them out one group of insides at a time. He didn’t know that Vegard wasn’t even busy doing any hunting, that he was back at the camp, empty and doing nothing, that he was awake and tormented by the grasp of sleep that was ever so close yet ever s far – Bård just continued to field dress the deer, making sure it was nice and clean on the inside.

It was large, it had good meat to it, they’d be able to bring meat home – home, if they were going home, if they were going home for mre of a reason than just to pack up and turn back around and run away.

Vegard was preoccupied with something entirely else though, he was going to tear and he was going to scratch, he was going to keep going until the brown colored leaves beneath him were red – his plaid shirt was unbuttoned and pulled up to his elbows, and to be honest, he had no idea what he was doing. The fact he was hurting himself wasn’t even registering with himself. After he had set up his nest to hunt, flashbacks had come back to him, his wound had been burning, he’d stumbled back to the camp throwing up here and there, bare stomach acid, unable to take it.

It wasn’t even as if his emotions were too much, it was just that everything was too much – admitting what he had might have been the last step, and they hadn’t really talked about it, but the very last thing that he anted to do was to tear apart his little brother’s family. It was as if it was his fault, this entire time, he had to punish himself, he had to get things going on this, he had to make sure he knew he was a bad person and that everyone around him knew he was bad –

all while in the meantime Bård took the deer back to the camp with him, having hoisted it over his shoulders and carrying it by his legs, protecting it, making sure nothing would get to it. This meat was a precious resource, meat always was, and especially at this time of year, it was perfect for deer.

Vegard just couldn’t stop it though, he couldn’t stop hurting himself, he needed Bård to hold him and tell him love was real – and that all Bård had for him was love, but there was so little chance of that happening, right? He was just in a trance like state, not knowing what he was doing, even making a slash through his jeans in the front where the injury was at in the back. It was some kind of punishment, some kind of penance, he knew that nothing with Bård would ever be the same again – when they returned to Bergen, when they returned to the farm, he would have to run away, he would have to pack up his things and he…. he couldn’t break up Bård’s beautiful family.

Bård at the moment that he found Vegard was much more focused on the carcass around his shoulders, but he dropped it like the heavy animal it was when he came around the scene. There was saliva around Vegard’s lips, there was blood, there was dirt, everything was a mess and he couldn’t see anything – had the other tried to kill himself?

Right when they had found out that all along it had been one another, that there was never meant to be anyone else. Sure there were obstacles now, but they could overcome them and just… there was some painful feelings going on, and he just grabbed at Vegard’s hand that held the knife, tight, trying to pull it away from his flesh, but the look in Vegard’s eyes, the look, his eyes were black and looked dead, and just what kind of remedy was there for that??

“What the fuck are you doing, Vegard, Vegard, snap out of it, Vegard Ylvisåker, Vegard, Ylvis, come on, please—”

He begged and pleaded, and there was eventually something in there that grounded him, that made hm feel like he was back on planet earth and not on some ethereal plane. Vegard looked at Bård with the deadened eyes, the dried blood flaking from around his mouth, the dried and fresh blood mingling and wet and coagulated, and it reminded Bård of having just pulled the innards from the animal carcass -

except this was his brother, this was somene he loved, someone he loved deeply, and he got up and tied up the deer again – it wasn’t going to go anywhere dead – and he carefully went back to Vegard, who hadn’t moved, not even since his knife had been flung away from him.

Most of all, Vegard felt regret, and Vegard felt immensely tired. All he wanted to do was to fall asleep, right then, at that moment, but before he knew it, Bård was tugging at him and pulling him up, dragging him to the spring – dragging him, his one leg would barely budge, he just wanted to feel secure and safe again, he wanted to be a little boy….

Bård brought him to the spring, sat him down gently, undressed him in a way trying to not get even more blood on his clothes but the pants and shirt were lost, and he just began splashing cool, clean water on the wound with cups of clear water in his hands.

The Ylvisåker brothers sat in silence, but Vegard’s eyes filled with tears.

He really did want to be a little boy again, playing soldier with his schoolmates, before he knew what playing soldier could really do to somebody.

Bård sighed heavily, and he looked at Vegard, really looked at him, noticed his eyes were burning with tears, and he kissed the side of the other man’s face gently, carefully. He wanted there to be no animosity finally between them, and he just….

The gashes at least, the gaps in Vegard’s skin were bad but they wouldn’t require anything to put him back together again. As Bård worked, he could have almost sworn that he saw the outlines of older scars, the faint imprints of white lines deep in to the tissue of Vegard’s skin that must have been so, so so old.

“What happened?”

And his heart wanted to break as he asked, because he didn’t even know if he could get an answer..

Vegard just curled in to him, even though rivulets of red watery blood spewed forth from the wounds, because he wanted to feel safe and protected. Bård put an arm around him, just what he wanted, and he closed his eyes, half drunk and half crying silently.

“You know how they say the past doesn’t haunt you forever…. I don’t know, Bård. I don’t. I just don’t want to hurt your family.”

“So you hurt yourself instead?”

It made no sense to him, but it made all the sense in the world to Vegard. He nodded, his bare feet dipped in the cool water, and he was soon asleep, with a very confused Bård one who was more now willing than ever to make this work than ever.


	5. Do not even listen, simply wait, be quiet still and solitary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Still fluttering between feelings, they try to find a realistic way to run away - still wandering between the feelings still, feeling set free but more bound than ever.

Bård had brought with him a field notebook, and he tried to repeatedly write down some kind of message, some kind of note that he could think of to his wife – but he was never good with these things, and everything he ended up writing down ended up scribbled out. 

Dear Marja – Dearest Marja – Formerly dearest Marja – none of them fit, none of them, and he just was unbelievably frustrated with himself as he had brought Vegard back to camp and let the other continue to sleep.

It did, at the very least, seem like he was getting the best sleep that he had gotten in a long while. He was out like a rock more than he was out like a log, and the elder Ylvisåker was just snoozing with the gaps in his arms and the one in his leg blaringly open and red, staring back at Bård like brazen reminders of something that Bård never wanted to know.

At least, it seemed, if Vegard used to have the habit of doing this, he hadn't done it in quite a while. He hoped that in time he would understand the reason why Vegard was doing this, but he couldn't conceive of any more pain than the pain of seeing his brother in so much pain. It was just too much for him, and...

There was the light in the back of his head, nagging him, reminding him that he was not a homosexual, that he didn't want to run off with Vegard and do lustful, dirty, sinful things, but he did want to run off with Vegard and take care of him protect him, almost matronly or like a nurse would – make sure that he was always okay.

One night, he could remember, he stayed up all night while Vegard was in Finland, laying in bed smoking cigarette after cigarette, wondering if he should get a drink or not but ultimately he never did even though it felt like ashes gripped his throat, but he couldn't sleep at all at the mere idea for some reason that night that his brother was out there getting hurt somewhere.

Come to think of it, a few weeks later, they got the message that Vegard would be getting a military discharge, that he'd been injured in the war, and he wondered if he had maybe somehow sensed it, there were always endless possibilities to these types of things.

But that was nearly a decade ago and he didn't even smoke any more, sans the occassional cigar here or there. Vegard smoked sometimes, but not too often, because he knew if he did his lungs would burn and he would be coughing very frequently and that couldn't be good for him. You could have just called them ahead of their time.

They had brought gauze with them, huge thick patches and lots of it, incase something went wrong during hunting and a goring happened or something like that, and Bård found a way to affix this around Vegard's wounds, just to keep them clean of debris. The knife still stood near the edge of the encapment, encased in blood and dirt, and Bård was a little afraid of it – it had become an item with so much power, it had become an item that was almost mystical and he was nearly afraid to touch it, even though by no means had he skipped the military because he had been a coward, like Vegard had suggested all the time.

But how an item itself held so much power – he had no idea. It was just human fear, he figured, and human fear could be a horrible thing.

He sat against a log, sitting with a pen and paper, writing letters that he just couldn't quite get down to Marja, writing long repeated messages if he could before burning them in the fire – it was growing late and then he should have been eating, and at some point he took the time to fix up the deer, but he just didn't feel too hungry.

He did strip off the tenderloins and cooked them with a little butter and herb though, just in case Vegard woke up, just in case, while his primary concern was... Vegard wasn't a homosexual either, surely he wasn't, but they were brothers, they just had this bond, something they shared that nobody could take from them and.... well, but wasn't it deeper than the average type of love and bond that most people shared? 

But what had it been that Vegard had said? He had just basically confessed his love – but they said they loved one another all the time, didn't they? Maybe – okay, not all th time, but they had done so younger, when their mother had encouraged all members of the family to do it, because she didn't want them to grow up in a family that never the words that they loved one another... It left hurt and confusion and a hole in Bård's chest.

The middle brother didn't know that after a while, his brother would need him almost twenty four seven, he'd be barely able to work on the farm, that his leg would get worse and the muscles wouldn't atrophy, but the muscles would begin to frequently cramp up and he'd be unable to move without much of a limp – it'd just bring back more frequent reminders. 

But the brothers were – were they in love? They loved each other, but circumstances were different when it came to things like this.

The both of them though had the same kind of yearning in their hearts, the same kind of yearning to kiss stuck in their throats, it was just something that they wanted to do to be closer and.... there was really no way to be closer, now was there? Bård felt bad, so bad about the homosexality thing, he kept telling himself and believing, or trying to believe it so badly that he wasn't gay, but there was no way to doubt the attractions they both felt... and it was horrid, it was a horrible thing, it was beyond sickening and he knew he couldn't leave Marja saying that was the case, he knew it looked bad and well...

Marja, I think I need to take Vegard away and focus more on his health, he hurt himself very badly on the trip, he fell into a stream and hit the rocks and--

But could he really lie to a wife that adored and loved him for so many years? Even though in a way he had lied since the beginning, that he had never loved laying with her, that he had only had one child with her... But Bård always brushed that off as the fact that maybe he just didnt really like sex. He didn't know. How was he supposed to know?

Bård just poked his finger around the food he had prepared, not really willing to eat it. He had gotten butter on the paper even, a bit of the browned liquid, and he just started feeling sleepy and tired himself When he felt like sleeping, though, he turned over to Vegard and huddled close to him, and Vegard instinctivly turned his head into the crook of Bård's neck.

It was very warm and comfortable on this day late at night as they curled up together, Vegard unaware of the cuddling that was going on but somehow knowing in his subconcious mind that it was going on. It was the type of security he needed – he did not need someone else to watch over him all the time, but he did not need to watch himself all the time either.

The most important thing to think of in his trauma, the most important thing he had to deal with, was the idea that he was going to feel paranoid sometimes and he needed to be vigilant about things at certain times, but not 24-7 like he was, not like the times that would induce panic attacks with him when he was going down to Bergen and was surrounded by people and just everything in general went bad for him when he was surrounded by people. 

Even with everyone arund him speaking in Norwegian, well, anyone around him could be a Russian, meaning any single person around him could want to attack them – and being out here in the forests, in the woods, surrounded by beauty and nature himself, well, he didn't think much about it – or tried not to – but there could have been a Russian anywhere.

At least it wasn't winter, at least he didn't have to worry about the camoflauge of the Russians, at least he didn't have to worry about not seeing them before they lunged from behind the bush or behind the trees and....

These were the types of things that usually bothered him, the types of things that were usually in his dreams. But he wasn't in Bergen, he wasn't in the middle of winter, and he wasn't in the middle of a horrid dream. He wasn't really in the middle of much of any dreams, really, he just thought of static like the radio going on or white noise in general - 

But toward the morning, he didn't know if it was him or what, but he began to dream of what if he had been a pilot, and he wished subconciously that they had brought the dogs with them and they could be in the pile with them even though he knew they needed to stay put and protect everyone.

He started to think though of what if he had been a pilot and what if he had reigned down destruction, blood raining from the sky, and he sighed and shuddered in his sleep and held on tighter to Bård, rough fingers clenching and grabbing and grasping, and he really should have gone to college – he had had the smarts for it, he had the brains, he had the knowledge.... he knew so many things, some things even just on a whim, but if he had been groomed and brought up in a college instead of having done the foolish thing and signed up for volunteering for the military, well, Vegard's life, he could have maybe been a professor or something, or maybe he would have been called to be a nazi and –

Bård's own sleep was restless, he was trying to catch some but it took him so long to get to sleep in the first place, and once he did, he couldn't think of doing anything other than protecting Vegard. He wanted to help him so badly, he wanted the other in his arms, he wanted the other to be okay, a mantra so extreme that he kept on repeating. 

He might have even murmured and muttered in his seep that he wanted his brother safe, and he tangled a hand in the curls and again – just, he wanted Vegard safe. But his murmurings may have included professions of love, things that Vegard slowly listened to and careflly cherished as he woke up to the morning sun as early as it did come.

It helped the static fade, it helped the other know that he was loved for certain, it helped Vegard – it helped Vegard in so many ways. It couldn't be the magical cure all to his depression, he knew that much, but he stared out at nothing, the brush, the foliage, the trees, and he just let himself get carried away listening to eventually babbling nonsense. He didn't want to wake up Bård though, not until the blond woke up himself.

When they were awake though, when they were both awake, he wanted to tell Bård some things, looking over at the entire mess Bárd had left in the dirt, the ripped out pages of the notebook and everything. He could see some letters the thick pen had laid into the faded yellow paprs – his wife's name, over and over and over was what jumped out at Vegard.

And his throat was heavy, his entire body was heavy with regret and pain. The pain of what he had done to himself yesterday was catching up to him, the gaps in his skin, they did sting and felt wide open and raw, but he looked around and appreciated the effort that Bård put in to packing the wounds.

When Bård woke up, he had to start asking the hard hitting questions.

“So, I was trying to avoid this – why did you have to know after all?”

Bård was more concerned with him, he was more concerned with his brother and he took the other gently by the hand, holding it, and he just watched him curiously and smiled through the pain.

“If you loved someone, wouldn't you want them to know? If someone loved you, wouldn't you want to know? These are just.... these are just simple things Vegard.”

“They're not so simple when you have a wife and a kid.”

“Or when you've bottled them up for so long that if you just told me, maybe I wouldn't have a wife and kid. But I decided, I told them, I'll tell them you need the extra help with your health, that you and me just need to – maybe we could find a clinic for you somewhere, far away. Where no one knows what we are to each other.”

And even if they did that, they'd have to be discreet, they'd have to keep their actions low key, and... could they really do it?

“And we'd have to basically never go back for it to work, never see our parents again, lie to everyone until we left, could we really do it?”

“Vegard, you asshole.” Bård muttered, looking over at him, looking at the glory of his face in the shine of the morning sun as he did, feeling only affection and love for him as he did look over at the other man. It was too much almost. “You should have told me years ago.”

“A normal response would be to go running, Bård. I'm amazed you haven't yet.” He pointed out, and there was this sort of sick feeling in both of their stomachs at the end of the day that just made them feel like everything was so weird when it came to this. It was like for the shortest of whiles, they could forget they were brothers, but it kept popping back up...

“Vegard, even if I didn't.... even if I didn't feel the same, I don't think I could cut you out of my life. We're too close. We've always been close. It's different when you have this.”

Weary brown eyes looked towad the tied up and properly, perfectly field dressed deer, and he gave a small smile – he had to be the one to mainly help Bård get the grasp of that, his little brother had had so many difficulties with it, and though he'd never lose affection for growing up alongside of him, the love he felt now...

“Nice deer. Good job.”

And just those words, for a short while, they talked more about Bård's hunt and less about the harsh realities of their world.


	6. Start with what is right rather than what is acceptable.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bård and Vegard snuggle in the middle of the night.

They had to pretend, they had to pretend for a short while as if there were a semblance of normalcy to their lives. They wanted so desperately for there to be, and it wasn't as if the two brothers had done anything that sinful yet. But just the thoughts alone, those were bad enough, weren't they?

They eventually had to come down from the mountains, had to bring the rest ot the deer with them, and they sold or bartered a bit of it to friends or they smoked the rest of the meat. But when Bård's wife, his beautiful, young blond wife asked what was wrong, he couldn't give a very solid answer.

“Nothing happened, it's nothing, just--”

He would always go off on a tangent and then never talk about it again, but then he eventually began to weave an excuse about Vegard having gotten hurt by a wild male deer up there, and that seemed like something that could have happened, that seemed like something that could have made him close up and not want to talk about much of anything.

“But he's okay, right? I mean – I haven't heard him talk at all since he got back! Is he alright?”

Bård really couldn't answer that kind of question.

“He's been through worse, I'm sure he will be. It just got his arm.”

The poor girl, she wanted to see the wound, she wanted to tend to it, and when she brought it up to Vegard – that it could get inflamed, infected, wounded worse than what it was, he just walked away from th entire family at that point.

Because he realized partially that that was what he was walking away from, a family, and families shouldn't be broken up or split up.

It did happen one night though where Bård slipped in to Vegard's small bedroom, nestled up to him on the cot, right up against him, breathing soft and slow. He didn't realize Vegard was asleep, he didn't realize he was waking his elder brother up, and he almost – it wasn't as if Vegard always played the mantra in his mind that he wasn't going to freak out, it just so happened that he almost did freak out when he woke up. He almost grabbed the knife – which had been washed and found, even though Bård had tried to dig it under some leaves – and he almost went wild, but....

He recognized the breathing.

He recognized the small breaths, the careful touch of a hand against his chest, and as Bård curled his fingers against Vegard's torso, Vegard lifted a hand up shakily before he gripped and grasped on to the blond's hand, figuring it to be very late at night, figuring the daughter and wife must have been in bed at that point.

But he was shaking, and he could have continued to do so because there was just something so sweet and intimate about a moment like this. The little brother had outgrown him quite a while ago, and there was just something still delicate about him though – not in an emasculating way, but in a way that felt like he was and would always be over protective of Bård no matter how much taller the other man was from him. It was just something he had to work on, wasn't it? 

But in a way, you could never work on that when it came to your own brother. Surely, when it came to your lover, no one could ever – no one could ever compare, and you wanted so badly just to protect them in case of something happening. 

It was strange, because it was Vegard that something had happened to and it was Bård that had gained the older brother sense of protectiveness over him over the years. When they had tried to remove the bullet in the field since it didn't go straight through and it didn't go to the bone, they had done entirely the wrong thing but for the frantic pace and people screaming and someone trying to help Vegard as....

These recurring thoughts always came to him, and he would feel a burning in the muscles of his leg, but he clasped on to the blond's hand and with his other hand, enveloped him and held him tight. There was something to this, something about the entire account... Bård felt butterflies in his stomach, and it was as if he was threatening to vomit them up. 

It felt so safe, so secure being held like this, and he had no idea – that even though he wanted to help Vegard, he had helped so much a few days ago when Vegard was dissociating and going through a phase of his illness. Bård wanted to hold and help Vegard so much but he had already done so, when Vegard was out of his head.

There was just no way for Vegard to verbalize this, and if you ever asked Vegard about his feelings he would clam up half the time and be silent. When he was younger, when he was a boy, he used to instead make jokes, but he rarely made those now...

Bård nestled his blonde hair against the wild dark curls, the freshly washed ones that no one knew where they or his slightly darker skin had popped up from. When he was younger, their parents endured jokes about his patronage, but Vegard's father had been a military man himself and wasn't afraid to fight any of them.

But Bård loved the curls, he loved the way Vegard's hair stuck out, he loved the way that Vegard looked in general. It was almost like a little slice of exoticism in Norway here itself, but it definitely had set him apart in the snow covered areas of Finland, so of course it set him apart here.

They just laid there and listened to one another breathe, until Vegard leaned to press a kiss against Bård's forehead. Bård closed his eyes in disbelief, and he sucked in a deep breath of air, and he just...

“I want you to think really hard before you leave your family.”

Vegard whispered, and murmured against the dark blond hair gently. 

He didn't want to say that though, that was about the opposite of what he wanted to say. He wanted to be selfish and take whatever meager belongings they had and leave immediately, but they wouldn't – they couldn't do that. Vegard wouldn't let them do that, even if he jumped out of bed, even if he kissed his blonde haired wife and daughter goodbye, even if he was ready to run off as far away...

“Maybe we can go to America. Did you see all that stuff about America after the war? It looked pretty nice.”

Bård murmured sleepily, and he sighed, breathing back in a deep scent of his brother and almost letting it flow through his body.

“We'd need someway to get there. I don't know if they want very many people who aren't very able to do things as well as others, Bård. But don't fall asleep here – come on, get up, go back to your own bed.”

He wanted to argue and fight it, he wanted to sleep on this bed that was impossibly tiny with the both of them, and he wanted to lay on top of his older brother and hold on to him gently and nestle against him more so and it was just.... it was just hard, to not have the level of care and love that they both wanted at the time, because they wanted to openly express it with one another but...

Bård was supposed to show his expressions to someone else, and Vegard was supposed to hide the fact of his own feelings and show them towards no one. He could always be uncle Vegard, he could make flower crowns with the dying daisies and treat Ingrid like a princess, but it would always still leave a mark in his stomach, a deadness, and the thought of Bård having to leave behind this young girl, it hurt him, he loved her too, he even felt a bit of love – even if they were mostly buried under jealousy – for Marja.

“I want to sleep with you,” Bård whined, as if he was a child afraid of wolves roaming outside and bears and everything else.... but for Vegard, it was unacceptable, they didn't want to be caught like this in the morning's light or before Marja got up and began to prepare breakfast.

“I wish that you could, I do, but you can't.” Vegard muttered stubbornly, pulling away, and he looked at Bård with large sorrowful brown eyes even though it couldn't be seen in the dark. 

“Just please, one night.” He pleaded with his pale blue eyes and he just couldn't fathom it. Vegard, that was, it would look too strange, even if Ingrid were to see her papa coming out of Vegard's bedroom in the morning.

Vegard just couldn't though, as much as he would like the added security blanket. Bård could become something he could easily become dependent on if he were allowed to after all these years, and he didn't want to screw up, not now, not this time, he couldn't.

“We slept together under the stars in the mountains. I'd rather do that.”

He said that rather than freak out, and Bård pulled away, his long hair dangling down and his face barely touching Vegard's. Vegard had stubble, he always did, he always had it no matter when he shaved, and he, Bård, leaned down to give the other a sweet, gentle, kiss.

“Would you, really?”

Vegard closed his eyes and he could imagine it, the even crisper air in his lungs and the taste of smoked meat on his tongue, and he gave Bård a kiss in return, nodding for certain.

“Any day of the week.”

“Maybe we need to move further north, find a cabin, just do something, anything, be self sufficient --”

“Again, I want you to seriously think, first.” Vegard reiterated, making sure his point came across to the other. Bård pulled away and got off of the small bed, and with a sigh and small smile, he quietly crept toward the door.

“I adore you, you know.”

It was a step toward saying love, but Vegard would take it eagerly and accept it.

“You too.”

That was his only response though, his hands without Bård in them cold and clammy, his eyes wanting to sting and water as he saw no way for them to go on like this. If he couldn't, if he wasn't grounded to the thoughts of the fact that Bård had just been in his arms, he may have even been a danger to himself again, but he tried to stay nice and... numb.


	7. Association with human beings lures one into self-observation.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A first kiss or two, Bård and his family find something important in the city, but... Vegard is Vegard.

The fact that he was thinking of taking Bård away, that only increased the nightmares. The thing about nightmares is – they're often of something you think of during the day, and it gets stored away in a little part of your memory and brought back up...

And he was thinking, how much use could he be like this? How much use could he be if he couldn't help out? He was handicapped from the incident, sure, and this turned to night terrors – the thing about those being he'd wake up in the middle of the night, not even knowing he'd been screaming, and he'd be drenched in sweat and he'd just... just try to wish it all away.

It started to make Ingrid a little afraid of him, because while he couldn't recollect the screaming, he could recollect the grabbing for the knife or service revolver and surveying the room afterward, even if no one saw him.

It was clear that no amount of valerian root was really going to help him anymore. He just instead took to drinking a bit, a bit more than he could, enough to really burn at his chest when he slammed it down.

Bård noticed the alcohol was diminishing, but he also noticed the screams going away – but he knew he couldn't keep his brother like this state forever. He couldn't let someone he love suffer. He was definitely going to be running away with Vegard, they would find some way, and even if Vegard tried to hide his drinking like it was shameful because of why he was drinking....

He was just confident that he could help out his brother some, he thought. Whether they stayed in Norway or whatever they did, they just had to get away, and they had to get away together. It was a tricky situation though, wasn't it? What an awful thing to be caught up in, a forbidden romance.

When winter was closer, Vegard would help him out to the woods to carry firewood, even though he usually ended up chopping it and not really gathering much of it himself. The rest of his body was strong, but his leg was weak. 

It didn't take many days for Bård to decide entirely, one hundred percent, that he wanted to stay with Vegard. He wanted to stick with him through thick and thin like he had through these years, yet he wanted there to be something deeper between them, and getting away would be the only way to do it. 

He had no ideas that the nightmares begun to incorporate Bård, because he thought of Bård so, so often – the fact that Bård was on his mind, the idea that Bård was the injured one beside him, that Bård had maybe ran away instead of him, and those ideas had made him... when he woke up, when the dreams had Bård not coming back, he wanted to puke.

“Vegard, I want to give you something.”

He mentioned once, when they were out there in the woods while Ingrid and Marja were out somewhere else gathering mushrooms for food. Bård just wanted to try this out, he headed up to his older brother, who's neck and face was beaded with sweat, but who kept his jacket on.

“I love you, so.”

This puzzled Vegard, this burst of emotion, this burst of talking and this – this little bit of evoking some sort of stirring in his stomach, and he looked over to Bård with his skin and fleece coat and raised both eyebrows.

Bård, with his blond hair and stunningly pretty looks, walked over to Vegard rather confidently, and – and he didn't know where to go from there. He didn't know how he wanted this to happen, he didn't.... well, well then, there had to be some way for this to go on. 

Vegard's shoulders lowered, and he held the ax down lower, and... Bård placed a hand to his face, smiling just looking in to Vegard's eyes. The dark brown eyes – there was something about it, something about looking in to his eyes and realizing that somewhere far – or not so far – back that their lineage must have diverged, he leaned down and he gave the other man a slight kiss, soft and gentle, and it was something he had held back for ages.

That was the entire thing – he had held it back for ages, he wanted to kiss Vegard like this at some point, but he thought if he did it at night he'd taste the alcohol and just... 

Vegard was one happy man at the kiss.

It had been ages since he had one, it had been a very long time – when was the last time he had even kissed a girl? Much less, when was the last time that he had even dated one? He had lived in practical solitude, a hermit, a tumor attached to Bård's family and sometimes Bjarte and their parents too, and even Bjarte was soon to be married...

When Bård pulled away, he looked desperately at Vegard. He wanted some kind of clue that what he did had been okay, that he had done things that were alright to do when they were completely alone.

“Oh. Thank you.”

He murmured, a bit unsure, not as confident, a person who was not as confident or smooth as his brother, someone who struggled socially and just had overall difficulties. 

The curly man haired leaned up and gave a kiss as well himself, For first kisses, it evoked all the right emotions, even if he really wasn't as smooth or confident as the younger brother – a heart pounding, butterflies aching, sort of sweet gentleness to it that made them both so amazingly overjoyed. 

Bård held on to the feelings that the kiss gave him, just the small feelings could lead him through the day, he believed. It could lead him beyond the day and in to eternity, if they had to. Just knowing the feeling of Vegard's rough chapped lips, knowing that Vegard existed and was tangible and someone that he could kiss... 

“You don't have to thank me, you.... fuck, that's weird, thanking someone.”

Vegard gave a small shrug, and he picked the ax back up. He lowered his head and went back to chopping at the wood, the deep thunk sound of metal hitting into wood, and Bård wandered back off.

\- - - 

It happened when they were in Bergen.

They had offered to take Vegard, and they always offered to take Vegard – they had offered countless times, though Vegard always said no. They still always offered the man to go down to the actual town with them, it'd be rude not to, right? At least that's what Marja said, so she always nudged Bård and made him ask, and sometimes he got a smoldering look of hatred in response.

People were the worst to be around, when the older brother happened to be around people, he felt that any of them could be Russian – any of them could try to come out and attack him at any moment. They'd recognize him, he'd have to fight for his life, and he wasn't a spring chicken anymore. At least, not exactly.

But still, they brought little Ingrid down along with them, and usually, her favorite thing to do was to ask to go by the candy shop – they could get a piece of candy, at least Ingrid and Bård, because part of Bård was still a large child at heart.

As they went around their business in town, they stopped by some shops and – it was Ingrid, actually, who pointed at something in the distance, but she called out in her adorable little accent, 'look, it's uncle Vegard!'

Marja and Bård both looked to one another before anything else, because they weren't... expecting anything. They looked down to Ingrid before looking where she pointed off to with her hand, expecting she maybe mistook someone for him, or at least to see him hobbling with his walking stick but...

“Where, darling? Where do you see him?”

Marja asked. Bård squinted. The mother put a hand on her daughter's head, pulling the young one to her dress, looking around a wider range of area.

“Over there, don't you see? On the book.”

They hadn't been looking for any book – but Bård's squinting up ahead showed a book shop, a wire rack, some ratty looking books on it, their pages a little yellow, but he ushered his family up closer, holding on to their backs, wanting to break in to a run through the small short cobblestone road.

When they got closer, it was – well, it was Vegard Ylvisåker.

The book's title proudly introduced in Norwegian about Finnish Volunteers, the cover advertising in bold font it originated from Finland and had become an international seller, translated to this and that language, and Bård flipped the book over – 'all you could need to know about the Finnish resistance' – and flipped it back over...

It was surely Vegard, though, on the cover. He was with a man who had a pair of skis, but beside him – it was obvious, with one man being blond, and... the other being his brother. Vegard's curls were peaking out from behind his hat and his hood, decked out all in white, with only black straps across his chest and shoulders with black gloves and boots...

And the greased black hair sticking out at the sides, as Vegard looked to the camera, the picture in stunning black and white and capturing his darker features, almost making him look as if he were a different race, though. He stuck out from all the white, but the whites of his eyes and the same smoldering angry look on his face could be seen in the picture and it was absolutely surreal to see this.

Bård flipped through it, Marja grabbing another copy, while Ingrid hopped in to the shop and fiddled about on her own as her parents were preoccupied.

The book had been in circulation for a while, it seemed, and Norway wasn't the first country it had hit, but it was a big news in other countries, it seemed, other free, countries. Bård couldn't help but murmur a quiet 'perkele' himself under his breath, because out of the hundreds of times he had heard Vegard say it, he had never said it himself. He was just taken aback, shocked, flipping through and seeing how far this had gone, how far this had to go even to get from Finland to their town, but when was the last time Bård was at a book store? Sure, he got books for Vegard sometimes, but – he had to get this one for Vegard, he had to let the other see, he looked at the photographer's credits, to a Timo, but he just.... his breath was on the cusp of not breathing at all, knowing he had just kissed this face not long ago.

When he went up to the shopkeeper, he handed over the book, and Ingrid came up to him, meekly handing over a small notebook. Bård looked down at her, wondering why she would want something so plain, but she just... she explained maybe they should get it for uncle Vee, maybe he could write down his dreams.

And though crowns were precious to them, though they didn't have many, he bought both items, sliding them over with some coins scrupulously. He could have dropped the books all the way through the streets, but his mouth was cotton dry, he could hardly even look over at Marja, even though she could barely close her mouth about Bård's 'celebrity' brother.

\- - -

By the time they headed back home, it was getting dark out, and Vegard was half slumped over a chair when they came home and walked in. He just looked up at them and smiled like a dope, and Bård hid the brown paper bag covered books tight to his side with his arm.

“Hei hei, Vegard.”

He murmured, and Marja went into the kitchen to heat up some food they had brought Vegard back from the city. Bård patted Ingrid's head and she headed off to the main bedroom where she slept, tired and having ate her piece of candy on the way home.

“Hei.” Vegard whispered, looking over Bård, and the blond wondered what was going on with him. In one hand he held his walking stick, but the other, he just mainly held over the chair, and Bård headed up to him and slung a hand underneath his good side, heading Vegard over to his bedroom.

“No, I don't think we should--”

“Vegard, are you drunk?”

“I took a nap, maybe drank a little, in that order, but...”

“Vegard, let me help you get to bed.”

There had to be some time, Bård decided, that he could get Vegard down to the city and they could go around and inquire about heading outside of Norway, probably by boat. But when they entered Vegard's room the smell of a fired gun still lingered in the air, the hot metal type of smell, and Bård wrinkled his nose and led Vegard over to the bed before he set the other man down and shut the door behind him.

“Did something happen?”

The darker haired man suddenly looked up at him, and Bård felt bad for the secrets he held under his other arm, even if he had been excited to tell and show Vegard them.

“I'm glad you weren't here.” Vegard just admitted, sloppily, quietly, eyes almost wild as he looked around. There was a specific spot his eyes fell though, that they kept looking toward, and Bård looked and – he headed over, to where a metal casing was stuck clearly in the wood, having impacted it very hard from a gun and –

“What?”

“When I woke up, I was just.. kind of... I thought something happened.”

Bård swallowed a lump in his throat.

“I was saving you and – when I woke up, it just happened.”

Gods, at least they hadn't been here, that would have scared Ingrid to death – and it hit him that the entire time, Vegard kept a loaded gun by his side. Geez. Oh man. His cheeks, his face was red, and Bård just tried to breath steadily through his nose.

“Oh. Vegard... Vegard, I think you should get back to sleep. Maybe eat first, but. I have something important to show you later, but not... now's not a good time.”

The elder brother couldn't even comprehend what was going on at the time really, too exhausted from having woken up and... the entire thing was a mess, really, but at least he had missed shooting the window.

“Yeah, maybe, maybe... thanks, Bård.”

And it felt like it was killing him, literally tearing away a part of him, to drag himself away from Vegard and go check what was going on with the food.... and he saw the gun in the corner, but he just... on his way out he shut the door, and he set the paper bag on the table, set both hands down on it, set his head down, and felt he was in maybe too deep.


	8. (...) so it all proceeds into deepest darkness.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bård comes to greet Vegard good morning, and Vegard writes down his recurring dream that's plagued him for years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ! Graphic depictions of gore warning applies to this chapter. ! 
> 
> Humbae showed me the lovely, horribly angst-inducing song What Did You Do in the War, Dad?, by Sonata Arctica; and I figured covering what I covered in this chapter was enough for now because it was giving me shivers.   
> The suggestion to write down your recurring nightmares is a real one, including write a full, better ending, and think about it throughout the day, the better ending, until the latter becomes the normal dream. That's what the trauma counselor said, anyway.

It had been the quiet thanks that had done him in, but after that, Bård decided he would take things slowly. He'd hide away the book, give him the notebook maybe and see how that went.... and Vegard didn't make a peep that night, it was nice for once, but Vegard's voice whimpered in and out barely audibly throughout the night as he slept.

Bård, on the other hand, was just going to let things happen naturally. He'd find some time when Marja was off visiting her parents, and he'd go in to town and inquire himself about trips away from Norway – but more than likely, they'd have to stay in Norway, just elsewhere, and find the money to get away first.

Bjarte becoming old enough to marry on his own... It was something else, like a small miracle almost, and it became something of an important date in Bård's mind. He wanted to be gone before the spring wedding, even though they had very little income coming in during the winter.

It was just... an idea, at least. A loose idea, but is was an idea.

It slowly rambled on in his mind, and when he woke up in the morning, feeling refreshed, he waited until he heard noises from Vegard's room to go bother the other man. He brought him breakfast, with a closed door – something that had never really been something to go on before, but he brought him porridge with a little jam and he could tell his brother was suffering one hell of a hangover the morning after having drunk.

“Morning, Vegard. Do you remember last night?”

The Norwegian began sniffing the air, testing out what was for breakfast, and he peered over at Bård, beckoning the other desperately to come over to the bed. Bård sat down beside him and Vegard showed off his arm a bit shamefully, a single gash in it, but he put the flannel shirt back and and groaned, leaning his head back.

“I remember dreaming, but--”

“--I know, you don't want to talk about it, right?”

It actually made a corner of Vegard's lip tug up as he opened a single eye to look at Bård, the warm bowl being put into his lap. His brother knew him so well, he knew his brother so well, they just – they were perfect for one another, really.

“Thank you. Not uh... just, you know, for the food, but.”

“You should be asking forgiveness! How are we getting the bullet out of the wall? How the fuck is that going to happen? Not thanking me, but.... Vegard, you get your arm infected and need it cut off, I will cut the other one off. I know they say oh, this penicillin, it can do anything, but Vegard, come on now.”

The darker haired man's facial expression sunk again, and he lifted his head.

“Bullet?”

“Yeah.”

Bård bit the bottom of his lip as he exhaled through his nose, a hand on Vegard's knee, leaning down and planting a kiss on the edge of his lips, letting him know he wasn't truly mad for what had happened, but for what could have happened.

“Over there, by the window.”

Vegard was about to pick up his spoon but he dropped it instead, and he swallowed nothingness, is lips in a straight line. He firmly stared, eyebrows furrowed, and he couldn't even remember the last time he discharged that wasn't for hunting—no, that was a lie, a distinct, total lie, he remembered exactly, it was into the face of a Russian, splinters of white bone fragments and....

He saw the image when he shut his eyes, it was always a different image he saw of something abhorrent that he had to do during he war times. He took in another deep breath, and that was something he had learned, long deep breaths, even if they made him dizzy. It was better than choppy short ones that would get him dizzy in a heartbeat and have him needing to sit or lay down or nearly passing out.

“We'll get it out, somehow.”

Bård's hand moved from the knee upwards slowly, to Vegard's covered leg, and he whispered very softly.

“I think we should keep it in. Wasn't that what the doctor in Oslo said? If they hadn't tried to take it out, the muscle wouldn't have – I don't know what big Latin words he used, but the muscle would have.... been saved more, and, you may not even have this limp.”

The necrotic muscle, the digging around for shards, the shoddy field medicine work – all of it, Bård could have had a much better chance if it wasn't so dark and they weren't so desperate and everyone had been so well meaning but the best intentions of mice and men...

Snapping down to look at him with a confused, angered look, he answered with a scoff.

“I'm not a wooden home. We can get it out.”

“It's fine where it is. Please. And I was thinking.... we should leave before Bjarte's wedding.”

Vegard slowly picked up the spoon and brought a little porridge to his mouth, and he curiously listened on, his war weary eyes scanning over the taller man.

“And... Oslo! We could go to Oslo.. Please, Vegard, don't you think this is a good idea?”

He managed to take a small bite first as he thought as he answered, closing his eyes, thinking back to the horrid experience with the doctor with the city accent and snide look, putting down every effort Vegard had done, wondering why Vegard would have gone off to some country to do 'nothing' where in reality, the happiest Vegard could recall being was hearing the Finns had finally won.

“Oslo, for what?”

“Earn some money. We can leave any day now, go to Oslo, just.... earn up some money. Maybe when we settle elsewhere, maybe Germany, Vegard, Lord, don't you think you should go to university? You'd be so good at it, you know so many things, you were always so smart, please think about it, you know so much.”

This just made him tense up a little bit, because sure, he knew a bit more about things than the average person, but it was things he had accumulated over the years and – Germany? Sure, they could speak some German, it seemed logical, but did it seem like a good place to settle after two world wars?

“Oslo, maybe. We'll talk more about leaving later. I think maybe England or America, though. I've heard even if you can't speak English, you can get by, and you can learn it quickly. I know a bit.”

Bård gave a half grin, even though he thought somewhere further like England or – a complete dream like across the Atlantic was just that, a dream, but he needed calming down and... he got it, when Vegard held the side of his blond mane and leaned in, kissing the side of his head.

“I also got you a notebook... Look, I know... I know nights are hard, but I think, maybe if you write it, you don't – you don't have to show me, Marja, mom or dad, Bjarte, anyone, but just, for yourself, I think maybe it could do you some use. You mentioned once, years ago, it's often the same dream, isn't it?”

This was something that Vegard could not deny, even though he could not remember saying so. He felt it was a defining feature of his life now, the same flashback to the very same night the incident occurred, and he just took a moment to collect himself.

“What... what makes you think that?”

“I don't know what made you go off to war, but something did. Maybe if you got it out, who knows.”

The book. The book had given him the idea. An autobiography of Vegard's own dreams, why not? If there were someone out there writing about Vegard, surely he could... well, maybe it would do some good.

“Maybe even if you wrote it, write it twice, the way it happens, and then... then with a good ending.”

Bård Ylvisåker didn't often have good ideas – if Marja's words were to be trusted, that was – but he thought that for one, maybe this was one of the good ones. Vegard looked eternally hesitant, but he nodded, taking more of the porridge into his mouth in his silence, thinking about it as he stared at the bullet – he had already surveyed the room and saw the gun on the floor, and.... well, at least no one had been home, right?

But he didn't remember it. What did that mean?

“I could try.”

“I bought a notebook and nice pen for you. When you finish, I have a special surprise for you.”

Vegard wouldn't have even dreamed about lying about finishing writing down his dreams, but, he so far... well, he so far had no plans to show the to anyone. They'd probably get burned after they were written in the fireplace, after all, he had done things that.... they had needed done, but they had been awful, awful things.

“Alright. I'll think about Oslo. Give me the weekend.”

Bård could do that. He looked to Vegard, he just wanted to bury the other man's face in kiss after kiss, but he restrained himself, stood up and sighed, looking down to him with a forced smile, before it could at least turn genuine and he smiled.

“Good, good. Things are moving along.”

\- - -

'I remember the shout of the word Russians. That was what woke me up. There was no time to react. You slept in everything in case something this way happened. You grabbed your gun. You shot up awake. You got ready to shoot something soon.

I had learned the word Russian in Finnish of course. They said it with a curl of the upper lip. A sneer. It was dirty. Bad. I felt bad for their plight. Dad sometimes talked of the first war. Do you ever remember any of that Bård? You will not read this but I wonder if you remember him ever talking of it. He says he was the war. He says it with pride. I say it with shame. Maybe I'd say it with pride if I saw it through to the end.

Those Finns. They really were something else. Eyes were so blue they were white. They would call me dark or call me other words I didn't learn I'm sure meant the same thing. They were happy to have volunteers but all this means nothing as it was the night.... During the night, everyone looks the same.

So much confusion. And agony soon. But we killed so many Russians first. So many. They were loud and shouting in Russian and seemed confused like us. Not as confused as our unit shouted … shouts in German, Finnish, Swedish. Norwegian, me and one other man, who did not know German but Finnish. Small things. 

The splatter of blood on my clothing. The warmth. The smell. The texture. Everything about it as it seeped through to the skin. Deep and sticky and thick. I can feel it.'

He wanted to stop, he gave deep shuddering breaths, he really could feel it – it was on the, not even on the fields again, but it was in the one place he was supposed to be safe. It had come out of nowhere and though he'd been attacked before, though he'd been confused, this was the first time.... and he wouldn't admit it on paper, or to anyone, but the first time he felt scared.

'All the training kicked in but left me. I kicked and butted and fought but it was close quarters. I was near the rear. Men in front were shooting when they felt it was safe to. Bodies went down on both sides. In the morning light a few hours later I'm sure they counted them up but I wasn't there since they were carting me off further south to be safer as a wounded man. 

Someone was behind me. They shouted at me loudly. I didn't know what they were saying. Everything was so loud and I was innocent; it was as if I were a child and what was I doing here? Small. I'm small. A gun is pressed to my back but I jut and they hit my leg instead as the gun is going off.

This nightmare never gets better. The agony. The searing pain. The silence after the loudness of the gun shot being so close. Then the ringing in the ears.

It's too unbearable even though I know men in front of me have gone down. Down for good. Good, good men, Finnish and otherwise. I had grown attached to them and the numbers would dwindle in fights but ultimately we were always fighters. We were always strong.

But the hit crippled me. I feel so small and helpless and it's like a noose is waiting around my neck and I am at the gallows.

I'm swinging by the time the fight is over and it's safe. They're calling for wounded and I cry out. Geir hears me and calls attention to the medic in Finnish. I guess that's what's happening. I'm clutching my leg, blood is leaking out and I am crying that I am going to lose my leg. Surely the bone shattered ; surely it will have to be amputated right there. 

I am one of the last men attended to. Not even by a medic. He asks me, his hands are on my shoulders.'

Vegard touched his shoulder briefly with his non-dominant hand, the ghostly remnant of the past certainly there still whenever he thought of it.

'Where does it hurt, where does it hurt, he continues and continues in German and I am pathetic. I should have been stronger. Tears stream from my eyes and I admit my leg, they feel around and grab a knife. What's to come is worst.

The digging and me clenching a sleeping bag. I had tried to do what I could, I really did but there was no time no space no energy no awareness no anything for me. I had been a great soldier before that night. Someone brings over a light and assists in him digging out the bullet.

I am even shown the shard, one large, metal piece, dug out from the muscle, and I am told the wound is nothing and I will be okay. But they keep digging. I grab a flask of my own I bartered for a pack of cigarettes back home and drink down all the homemade alcohol in it, every last drop as it burns down and my head is swimming.

I am soon face down clutching with both hands and it feels like I am there forever, not there, but there. I stop crying with no more tears left to give but I do end up fiercely cursing loudly in Norwegian. I am not the only one cursing.

Bård's beautiful young face comes to mind and my breathing is shallow and hyper, over excited, desperate to be back home and I know somehow this injury will have me there.

But I never wanted to go back.

42\. That's how many I killed, injured, maimed, I don't know. It only took one to maim me and break me. How many years has it been already? This same dream plays every night. It's like a war propaganda film when they would play in theatres endlessly.

I never exactly stayed around to make sure I killed them really but I injured enough at the very least. I was proud of every last one of them too. Maybe that is why this happened the way that it happened. They say for every force there is an opposing one. 

This isn't what that means but I can fake it and say it applies.

I dream of it all though. It's the night, the smell of blood, the smell of hot burning metal and everything. I wish there was a way to say I wasn't so … A way to say that I fought back successfully that night before he got me. I did not. I managed to shoot him with the same gun I keep though, I shot him and I grabbed the knife from my side and gutted him like an animal. The first time I really felt my hands deep in to someone's intestines and in their organs. 

It was so wet it did not even feel wet. When you're that surrounded it feels natural. I might have felt his lungs. I might have felt the fat up to my elbow. 

In an ideal world. If this had turned out better.'

Vegard was shaking already, on the verge of tears, he couldn't fully write out the better, 'good' ending.

'I would have done this to him before he did what he did to me.

In very bad dreams. He wraps his fingers around my still beating heart and pulls.

How crazy, stupid, anatomically impossible is that? But Bård, I can feel my dreams.

If all of it was better, on the 14th of March in 1940, I would be coming back home unscathed. Sometimes when I work my leg hurts so bad I could cry out in pain but I don't want to be known as the cripple. I don't. 

I will continue living as a shell.'

And that was it.

That was all Vegard wrote to before he had to close the book and lay down.


	9. The state in which we are is sinful, irrespective of guilt.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bård decides to read a little, an escape is... almost attempted; but disillusionment is a weary man's hope.

\- - -

Bård wasn't told that Vegard had finished writing down his dream, both of the endings, and he hadn't known that his older brother wanted to burn the nice – but not too nice – writing book that he had gotten for him at Ingrid's request.

He decided to start reading the book though, maybe he could get some sort of feel about what it was like to be a volunteer in the Finnish winter war. He read off a dedication one night in bed of so many nationalities that had come together to Marja, and she just rolled over.

She knew. Of course she knew. She had lost her brother, an uncle, but had losing them been better than being left with them the way things were with Vegard?

And Bård and Marja... It was funny how she didn't want to hear it, didn't want to hear a piece of her own history he thought. Bård had such exhalation for the volunteers, he was so proud and star struck of his big brother for his deeds, but Marja just drowned her desolation in losing some of her family behind a strong, stoic Finnish mask, one of a fair face with strong cheekbones, flaxen blond hair usually kept in a tight braid across the crown of her head, and eyes so blue they could nearly be seen or called as white.

It had seemed as fate, that he had met her, met her while Vegard was off at war as she had fled, young herself and scared and barely able to speak any Norwegian but able to express a frightful medley of Norwegian words about a Russian take over...

Even when Vegard saw her, he knew that she had to have been a Finn. Alright, so she was half Finnish, half Estonian, but there was no way at this point now that she would see the country of the other half of her heritage as a red flag flew over it. 

Maybe it was bitter fate, that Bård's child would be part Finn, that she would share eyes so white and have yet have such a Bergen accent no one would question she was anything but Norwegian, one hundred percent. 

It was sad, a sad fate really, but Bård got further and further into the book, he lit up and simultaneously dimmed at the times when Norwegians were mentioned.... Proud they would fight, before it was needed, but now knowing it was Vegard trying to run away, well.

He was still that star struck young man, he still hurt a bit in the heart while Marja spoke her native tongue to Ingrid, and when Ingrid was young but so bright – how was she his child? – but he knew they spoke it hushed for a reason around Vegard, he knew they exalted Vegard; Ingrid knowing he didn't fight in 'the' war, but it was 'mother's' war.

Surely, hearing any sort of Finnish though, they didn't want to be crass, they didn't want to be ignorant and think it may not have an effect on Vegard – they thought very well that it might, so they kept it in hushed voices behind closed doors and not around him. 

But Marja didn't want Ingrid to grow up without any sort of clue as to who she was, why she spoke this tongue that no one else did, so she would teach her Finnish history – and gosh! The book, the book upset Marja a little, calling the foreign volunteers the 'Finnish boys', Finnish boys had fought and given their lives in the war – born and raised Finnish, died Finnish, like her brother and uncle, the idea fighting somehow changed who they were...

She didn't want to hear anything about the book really, though her national pride spiked when she realized there were books surely being written about this war for independence, this grand roster of fights, and to see Vegard on the cover of it was something else.

He looked so different.

Not sullen.

Not a husk.

It was horrific almost to see the way that one night must have changed Vegard, she had a dream of it one night – she had no hints on how her brother or uncle died, she could not read in Norwegian well, but damn it all if she didn't imagine the most horrific ways that they must have died, cold and alone in the middle of winter.

And maybe, she thought, a part of her, that Vegard should have been a little more grateful for the life he was allowed to keep. At least he was breathing – with each limb – and he didn't even seem grateful that where others fell, he survived. He was an embodiment of why?

Bård had no idea about any of this, though. He could recall however once that Vegard was in a choir when they were younger children – and he had been so star struck and amazed when he saw one of Vegard's appearances in a performance.

To him, there had still been loss. A once vibrant man who could go on for hours about different types of mold would do his work for the day and then lay in his bed, maybe read a book, but he was full of fear and loathing and the unknown and the whimpers he made at night.

To Marja, all she saw was the luck to have survived.

The idea had passed through Vegard's head many times, though, to neither of them knowing so, that Vegard felt bad he had survived when so many had fallen, that he had met so few survivors – though that was probably because so few men from Bergen had gone and taken off to go to Finland, and that he rarely left the house after the first few years.

Seeing comrades die around him though... He hadn't lost his best friend that he had made at the time, but he lost many good men in such a short time, the fight for independence was short but it was one with high risks and the Russians never played around.

Bård kept reading through the book though, and he kept learning so many things – technical thing, colloquial things, things he imagined Vegard would tell him if he ever spoke about the war. 

He only really had the time to read the book close to when it was time to huddle up in bed, and he imagined... well, sometimes when he got very tired, he imagined that it was Vegard narrating everything to him in his technical voice, a voice away from any sullen apathy, but one that was full of lively passion for the things he was talking about.

It was an awful thing to think of, wasn't it?

Vegard... Vegard wanted these thing so far in his past that he didn't think of them anymore, but for once, Vegard maybe.... he maybe saw the danger in the things he did. He tried taking the knife and the gun and putting them away in a drawer, scared to hold them so dear.... It hadn't even been like he was drunk when he had shot the wall. 

It had just been another thing that happened.

As Bård got through the book, he wondered if Vegard – and yes, Vegard wondered about it too, what would have happened if he had been around at any of the times when Vegard was busy slipping in and out of reality. 

Could he had helped in any way?

But – that wasn't the problem, that wasn't the issue. The issue wasn't that Vegard was alone, the issue was Vegard needed help and there was no help to be given at the time.

Bård though – he was still reading the book when he decided to take some gold that he had accumulated over the years, not touching Marja's, not dreaming of doing so, but he took it and down to the city it went, just a small enough amount... well, for a way to get out of Bergen soon and he figured, maybe some money in Oslo to live off of.

It was a loss of an investment, and he thought, well, though, he could deal with it, there was more gold in the world, but Marja would certainly notice it soon.

\- - -

Every night that he slept without the knife and the gun, every night he lived with this self imposed hell, he just truly wanted to die, almost, just about.

It wasn't even comparable to sleeping naked or something – it was maybe like sleeping knowing that there were dozen of virulent game and angered bears and the such around you even if there weren't, even if the fear was unfounded and not based in reality.

But if they were in a locked drawer, he would have to put some effort into getting to them, and well, that would be the ideal, right? Even if he kept the key nearby, it didn't sooth him, it just... let him know that it would take that much longer to get to what he needed. 

If he ever legitimately needed it, not that he had ever needed to before, not that he likely would in the future, but.

One night, Bård woke him up though, smiling, something Vegard could see in the darkness, and the bleary eyed curly haired Norwegian tried to smile back confused.

“I sold some things. It's probably enough to get to Oslo.”

“How much do you have?”

“Probably enough to get to Oslo, like I just told you.”

“No, but...” Vegard was too tired to argue, he just yawned and closed his eyes, a hand of Bård's resting in his curls. He felt almost like a child again, but he didn't particularly mind. “How much?” There was an innocent quality to it all, and the blond sighed and tried to stay chipper, smiling, not thinking of how empty his hand felt when he closed the gate again to come back in home and join up with the family as if he'd done nothing but normal business down in town.

“Enough, Vegard, but we made need a little more for living expenses. Do you think – do you think maybe you should get rid of your service gun? I bet someone would be very interested in it, somewhere. Don't you think?”

He almost wanted to grasp for where he thought it would be right next to Vegard, under his pillow, yet he didn't. Bård wouldn't dream of it. 

He took a hold of Vegard's hand, and the skin was chapped and scarred and rough – Vegard's hands were always like this, but Bård loved the way that they felt. He closed his eyes and smiled to himself, beside himself, and just such a tender small movement such as this could convey so much love between the both of them.

Vegard squeezed his hand. The idea scared him.

Bård kept thinking – over 8000 Swedes, over 1000 Danes, over 800 Norwegians...

“It's not the type of gun to hunt game with, we won't need it, don't you think?”

“Don't.... you think maybe we should get rid of the knife instead?” He ventured, and it was a big venture, it was a big risk, but he was... well, he was going to take it.

“I... maybe.”

At least the suggestion was something new, wasn't it? The suggestion was something he hadn't heard before, but it was true, and... well, it had been what Vegard had been hurting himself with over the past few weeks.

Evidently, unknown to Bård yet suspected, he had done so before in the past too.

“It could be useful in the field, but I – maybe, I don't know, it seems like a treasure, it seems you should let someone hold on to it who will take care of it.”

And Vegard nodded, wanting to pull the other man down in to bed with him and wanting to take him and hold him and – with a deep sigh, he closed his eyes again, yawning, the smell of alcohol on his breath, but it helped him sleep so well, so so well, it just...

“Okay, if you think people would actually be interested in a silly little thing. I could get rid of it... but the gun, not unless I have to.”

“Is it still there? Under your pillow?”

And Vegard bit down on the bottom of his own chapped lip, curling his head against the pillow, and he just.... shook his head, though with that, Bård wasn't going to exactly ask more.

\- - - 

There was once, there was one attempt to leave.

When they got rid of the knife – the blond of course realized the gun was locked up too and he breathed a sigh of relief, but, they got the knife and... well, people were realizing these thing maybe had use. These things should be.... And out of 800 something volunteers, a collector paid a small sum for it, small bit significant enough to help them, and the brothers bid the collector farewell in Bergen.

Bergen almost gave Vegard a flashback though when they walked down the streets, and – Bård nonverbally sensed it, he didn't want his brother to live the nightmare again, he grabbed the other man's hand and held on to it tightly for a moment, and the blind rage that almost overtook Vegard could have been bad, very bad. 

Bård had seen veterans sometimes, from the main war, the war before it, people who had been shipped off and made it back home, screaming and shouting and flailing in public but – that non verbal communication and the squeeze of the hand, it grounded Vegard to reality, Vegard shook his head and took in a deep breath. The cold air on his face, well, he.... he just, he was going to be okay, right? Right...

But they tried, by Gods did they try later that night.

Taking the money, packing essential things and clothes – for Bård, one of the things was the book he hadn't yet seen, but... he woke up Ingrid on his way out, and as they were near the door, they were confronted by a bleary eyed long haired blonde half Finnish girl, asking her papa where he was off to.

The panic exchanged between them at the moment, they dropped their bags gently, their smiles died, but Bård mustered one up, and he held on to Ingrid, picked her up and twirled her over and set her on the table.

“Papa and uncle are just checking on the horse, love.”

She bit her tiny pink lip, and looked unsure for a moment and when she looked up to Vegard he nodded – and she looked back down to her father, and he knew that he couldn't say he'd never leave... that he'd never be gone in the middle of the night, that he'd never leave without explanation, that one morning the house would be half empty and at most some money would be left, maybe Vegard and Bård's parents would hopefully help as well, but that the most they may get would be a vague letter weeks later apologizing profusely.

So he was at a loss at what he could say.

“I will be here in the morning, just go back to bed.”

He took her down and she didn't question him, but fuck, did he and Vegard share a look of mutual panic and a 'so close' moment. If Marja had woken up, it would have been something different, Vegard maybe – he maybe couldn't have held on to it long enough with her, he maybe would have snapped, expressed an actual feeling for once and that would have been that.

They just sat down at the wooden table, in their wooden chairs, Vegard's face in his hands and Bárd facing the window, until the Scandinavian sun rose up in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know what to say between Ylvis family drama and drama myself... I had a flashback myself; sigh, I almost grabbed a knife and started stabbing something... because I was imagining, I was thinking, the person who assaulted me, after they broke my wrist I should have got back up and started clawing at their face/eyes and-- I knew more survival tactics but I used like none out of fright... so just for a few minutes nothing outside of my own memory existed, my own altered one, and... sorry.... oTL.... 
> 
> but my birthday is coming up!!!!!!!! oTL


	10. Love is, that you are the knife which I plunge into myself.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vegard sings Ingrid a little song and Vegard and Bård leave the forest with heavy hearts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song featured here is Päivänsäde ja Menninkäinen by Tapio Rautavaara. Lyrics are in English so you can read them but are sung in Finnish in the story. 8) Shhh.

When Vegard got up the next morning, he found that his entire body felt entirely stiff. He cracked a few bones, his back, his shoulders, his neck – everything that he could, and he rubbed down his leg, looking over to the duffel bag on the floor from the army that he has used to try and run away with.

Sure, Bård wanted them to have some security when they left – but the thing was, he was feeling a bit worse and worse that they were going to leave. His mind just kept thinking of the security nest that Bård had built up for them and.... he massaged his leg, trying to get it to cooperate with him for once. 

He could think of the ominous silence that filled the home most of the time, and he thought deeply and intently on the idea of leaving at least part of the little savings they had for Marja and Ingrid. A single woman and her child would need it more, it just seemed morally right to him, whereas at least Bård was still young he could still do physical work, they both could and Vegard could work through the pain. The blond brother would probably try to tel him not to exert himself, but he'd keep some of his money away and send it to Marja secretly.

At least, that was what his tired mind was thinking. He craved for a little bit of coffee, maybe some breakfast sausage that he could smell the mother of the home cooking, an appetite in himself finally awoken. He kept massaging the same leg though, and he sighed, figuring he'd have to find some way to be stern with Bård and that they needed to leave more money with Marja and Ingrid.

For the mean time.

He got up from the bed slowly, hobbling slightly, and he went to where the guitar was – and he sat back down on the bed pretty quickly, unable to really keep walking on like that for much of a distance without an aid. 

Strumming at the instrument lightly, he sang small little made up songs to himself, a way to entertain himself. He felt unproductive enough as it was, without doing anything, but he wanted to get something out of the way – he always felt like he was bursting with creativity, but he never did anything to foster it. And Bård had been right, he had always done great in school, he used to have so many passions, but now he just couldn't muster up the strength...

But his fingers held the strength to play beautiful melodies, and he realized – why hadn't they thought of reselling this old thing? Sure it could bring them amusement and so on, but were they really going to bring it to Oslo with them?

His feet on the stone cold wooden floor, he looked over to the door as it creaked open a bit, and little Ingrid stood there. She headed over to him, slowly, and his lips stopped moving, but he continued to strum on the guitar.

“I remember you used to sing something in...” Her voice lowered a little bit, her blue eyes grew wide, and she looked up at him, “Finnish... didn't you? I heard you... everyone else was sleeping...”

He knew immediately what she meant, and he forced a smile, trying not to think about it, really. He knew the words to one Finnish song, but his pronunciation, it was probably so juvenile – even though they were raising – well, her mother was raising her to speak more than Norwegian, he clamped a hand on top of her head, shaking it back and forth.

“Oh, it was nothing.”

“You sounded really good!” She whined softly, and he was surprised, even though the emotion didn't show on his face. He was a little heartbroken at the pleading sound, and he looked down at the guitar, strumming the same tune Tapio Rautavaara did when he sung the specific song.

It was an intricate tale, one he felt like he could relate to, but it had to do with a gnome falling in love with a sunbeam - wishing to take the beam of sun on as a lover, even if gnomes were creatures that had to stay in the darkness, and the sunbeam turned away.

It was sort of like the tale of Hades and Persephone, but of course he'd worked furiously on trying to understand what the Finnish meant, and he thought he had it peiced together now. And so strumming, singing softly in Finnish, he went on.

"They were looking at each other, the gnome in his chest felt a hot flame, he said 'you are burning my eyes, but never in my life have I seen something so wonderful!'"

He flinched slightly as he looked down at her, but Ingrid's face was lit up, even though in her youth she could tell he wasn’t used to this tongue, but he was used to this song to an extent. She was happy to hear this, ecstatic her uncle -- well, maybe secretly he was part of the secret little language club her and her mother had.

Her big blue eyes begged more, and he swallowed his own breath, looking down at the guitar, closing his eyes in concentration. He licked at his lips before he went on, softly, quiet as a mouse. 

“'It doesn't matter that your brightness makes me blind, it's easy to wander in the dark! Come along with me, and I'll show you the way to my home, and I will take you as my loved one...”

It was almost as if his heart gave out a sigh. The entire tale, a gnome falling for a sunbeam, it was painful and – he kept smiling, his calloused fingers on the metal strings.

“Then what does the sunbeam do, uncle Vegard?” She asked in Finnish at first, before his confused look.... Sheepishly, she grinned, touching both of his knees, giving a small jump in child joy as she repeated the question in Norwegian. It made him not want to continue the story the proper way, it wasn't exactly a child's tale, not that it had anything bad in it, just... not a perfect ending. He ended up biting his bottom lip and clamping a hand on her head, the music stopping. 

“So he, the gnome, takes the sunbeam home and she brightens up his life. They live together forever.” He lied through his teeth, and Ingrid gave a dreamy sort of look almost, like most children did as they thought of fairy tale things such as princesses and gnomes and talking sunbeams.

“Lovely...” She giggled, smiling brightly at Vegard. He was hesitant but nodded, trying to express in his dark eyes that he was absolutely telling the truth about the tale. 

In the rest of the song, truthfully, the sunbeam lets the gnome know – truthfully, if she were to stay in his world forever, she would soon perish and extinguish. Then whenever the gnome walked alone in the dark, he remembered her, and thought why must they both be of two worlds...

Damn it, he was getting sentimental. He was thinking how Bård was his beam of light, how really, he should leave and let the sunbeam be the way it was and keep things the way that they were... but he was selfish, he would gladly go blind if it meant Bård – and there was the problem, he was already crippled and asking so much of his brother.

Ingrid could pick up on his tenseness, she could pick up on his conflicting emotions in the moment in the way that only an innocent child could, but she didn't know what they meant. She assumed something else.

“Did you ever have a wife?”

And it brought Vegard back to reality, it even made him laugh a little, and he shook his head. “No.”

“But did you have someone you wish could have been?”

The things that came from the mouth of children, it was a complex, complicated question, and he just thought about it, before shaking his head.

“I love my family, that's enough for me.”

Ingrid smiled and hugged his legs, even if his words were like a double edged sword. She was caught up and mistaken in a way, Vegard did think of her as family, but... He and Bård would soon be leaving all this behind. It included her, and he just rubbed her hair, shrugged her away, and returned to being the stoic uncle figure.

\- - -

“I thought about you earlier.”

Vegard kept his duffel bag ready and packed and Bård kept a bag on top of that, and they were put under Vegard's bed. It was the only way they could hide things away, and Bård just lay in Vegard's bed on top of him, hands entangled in the curly dark hair of his brother. He was getting less and less sleep these days, they both were, but it was worth it to have some moments alone.

“Vegard, really? You never think of anyone else,” Bård joked, his head resting against Vegard's neck. “You're always so...”

“There's some – let's call it a fairy tale, but the story is, a gnome falls in love with a sunbeam...”

He recounted the entire tale, and Bård heaved and listened as the other man spoke of his feelings, even though they were... rather spoken without emotion behind them, some sort of emotional numbness, and Vegard laid his head back.

Bård kissed his neck.

“You're not 'extinguishing' my flame or anything, come on. I adore you. Let's just leave tonight--”

And the dark eyes widened in the flooded moonlight that filled the room. He was usually the one to turn Bård's bad ideas in to good ones, and this, this he certainly was not too sure of. 

“Look, leaving out of nowhere--”

“Isn't that the entire idea?”

“It's a flight of fancy and it just....”

“Let's leave.”

The elder sibling cringed, and he leaned his head back down – he kissed Bård, harsh and firmly, his expression darkened as he repeated himself.

“I have a bad feeling about tonight. I know you think I'm never right, but still, trust me this once. I don't want to go tonight.”

“Are you not wanting to, yourself, or is this really fucking intuition, Vegard?”

He didn't know, but he sucked in a breath and closed his eyes. 

“I don't know what it is, but I--”

“Tomorrow, then, let's go tomorrow.”

Vegard really had to think about it, but he had no time to. Under pressure he tried to stay calm, but he cracked, heaving slightly as he responded, eyes shut so he didn't have to see the intensity of the blue eyes even though he knew he could fight it and win.

After all, Bård would be the one metaphorically carrying them both, Bård would be the one with money, Bård would be the one able to work...

“Okay, okay. Tomorrow.”

\- - -

When their country was occupied by Germans, things were bad. Things were bad and neither of them wanted to think or talk about it – but they had thought of doing this exact thing before, of running up and running away as fugitives. It would be the first time they'd go through with it, the first time they truly knew each others feelings.

Vegard still felt the responsibility of an older brother, he still felt like if things did not go right he would be the one to blame – but when it came night the next day, after a normal day, talk of Bjarte's wedding, Vegard managed to scribble 'sorry' on a page from the notebook and tear it out. 

He managed to distract Bård enough too to leave crumpled paper currency notes and coins on the kitchen table right next to the front door and distract Bård enough so he didn't notice on the way out the crumpled notes. 

Bård had kissed his wife's forehead, had kissed his daughter's forehead, had thought it'd be better to leave with no note. Perhaps at one time he could have really fooled himself in to thinking such things but... was there love? He definitely loved his daughter, how could he not love his flesh and blood, but Marja?

He didn't know anymore. He had thought about it a lot, and he didn't know any more.

So he left nothing – and took very little with him. Some food was taken, but nothing ultimately of Marja or their joint belongings... maybe one day, he thought, he could write to his daughter, apologize, he'd have ages to come up with a fake story and fake everything....

On the way out of the farmlands and forest, it was a new beginning. They held hands and hurried, their hearts racing in unison. 

The night was clear, there were plenty of stars to guide them, and they left late enough that they'd be able to get in just as the sun was up. They made the adventure down to Bergen together, Vegard even with the guitar and a leather strap around his back and the duffel bag vertical to his back, and Bård with his meager belonging but most of all, money.

By the time they got in to town they could have used something to eat, their eyes were bleary, they had canteens of coffee and one each of water, but they headed to the rail road station and with the blitz kind of excitement from lack of sleep, ordered tickets to Oslo.

When they sat around for their train, they wanted to hold hands – both of them did, their hands kept brushing up against each other, but they were both let down in the end. The train ride would take quite a few hours, they were told, and at the meager station Vegard strummed at his guitar a bit, Bård making up little songs, but they both waited in giddy excitement to be out of the town.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> English lyrics of the last four verses of the song mentioned this chapter:
> 
> 'They were looking at each other, the gnome in his chest felt a hot flame, he said 'you are burning my eyes, but never in my life have I seen something as wonderful!
> 
> It doesn't matter that your brightness makes me blind, it's easy to wander in the dark. come along with me, and Ill show you the way to my home cave, and I will take you as my loved one!'
> 
> But the sunbeam answered, 'Dear gnome, the darkness will take my life away, and I don't wish to die, I must leave this very moment, if I don't fly to the light soon I won't life for a moment more!'
> 
> And so left the beautiful sunbeam, but even now when the gnome walks alone, he wonders why one of them is a child of light, and the other one loves the night'


	11. Life’s splendor forever lies in wait about each one of us in all its fullness, but veiled from view, deep down, invisible, far off.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arriving in Oslo, Vegard has a surprise for Bård.
> 
> Vegard even gives a laugh. It's a miracle.
> 
> I’m working on a ahem ahem super secret project for this.

They were still high on excitement when they got on to the train, even though they didn't want to hold hands yet so desperately did. Vegard was given silent nods of appreciation, mistaken for what war he had been fighting in. Bård clamped a hand on his shoulders a few times – the train ride would be quite a trip and the cost of it had been pretty high.

But the sound of other people in the station, the bumbling and the harried behavior, it was all something that Vegard had to keep himself grounded down to the earth to remember. The memories couldn't hurt him, he knew, but damn did they hurt, it was just something that he didn't know how to deal with.

He didn't want to deal with the nightmare again, especially not now, but Bård being next to him...

Trying not to think of Marja and Ingrid, the both of them, they managed to get on to their train and head off in to the direction of Oslo. They were cramped seats and sitting close together but neither of them minded it. 

Bård wanted to speak, but after the guitar had been put up, he didn't think he could say anything but croak out with a hoarse voice full of disbelief and giddiness, that he left, they both left, to reassure Vegard it was the start of their new life. He had to take on th role of an elder for Vegard after all, didn't he? 

At least that of a mentor, at least that of someone who was protective and could provide all the good necessary for him...

Vegard sat next to the window, Bård laid his head on Vegard's shoulder and squeezed his leg as he looked over at the scenery as it eventually rolled by. Bård ended up asleep soon enough, and Vegard thought of how he had to get to Oslo first before he moved on to Stockholm and finally Helsinki before moving North. He hoped that whatever they did in the future, they didn't have to stop by Helsinki.

Could he really be blamed for not wanting step foot in Finland again?

Bård was the only one asleep. The car would fill up with some folk at stations, at other stations, people would leave. There seemed to be very few people in it for the long haul, and to be honest, Vegard had a surprise for Bård once they got to Oslo.

The blonde though had nightmares, just about, when it came to what had just transpired. He loved Ingrid so much, fuck, he didn't want the little girl to – he didn't want her to grow up without a father, but he was confident that Marja would let no harm come to her and was a strong enough woman to take care of her family.

He knew these things in his rational mind, but he was mainly going on irrationality, he didn't know what really to expect in these dreams of his. He could see the cabin, he could see the sun-faded curtains, he could see everything, made out of wood, bronze little souvenirs and furs here and there, and he just could see...

It wasn't something that easily rested in his mind, and he could see his wife in his head crying her eyes out. It was just what he could imagine, and it killed him on the inside, but he was still certain he was making the right choice.

Vegard, on the other hand, had to get himself ready for social interaction soon enough. He told himself that it would be no big deal, that he could just go on and act as if he were normal – but was he normal? Would an old friend be able to tell anything different about him?

But he was confident, that he could make anywhere a home. Home would be with Bård,`no matter where they were in the world. If Bård really had such aspirations to go to America, well, maybe they could do that...

When the other woke up though, there was a little drool by his mouth, and he looked up at Vegard. He was bleary eyed and the sun had already started to set, but through his confusion, he murmured good morning, and nestled against the jacket that Vegard had put over him in his sleep. Vegard chuckled, a small laugh, and looked out the window, shaking his head. 

The small movement made Bård's heart leap, it had been so long since he had seen or heard Vegard give anything that was evn reminiscent of a laugh. Bård started to wake up a bit more, huddling against the other man, and he just closed his eyes and let the reality that he was actually on a train traveling wash over him instead of the sights that he had seen in his dreams. This was better, he told himself. This was better.

“It's almost night. I thought we'd be there by now but – we should be there soon.”

Vegard murmured back to him, looking at how the trees were disappearing, how the landscape gave away from the trees and the forests to more cities, more townhouses brightly colored in a row, like when he'd go down to Bergen – but more developed, maybe even slightly war touched still, but he just didn't know what to say about that part.

“Thank you.”

Bård murmured and Vegard didn't know what he'd have to be thankful about, but he just nodded along and took it at face value and turned in to his brother. One other person sat remotely near them, and the train had filled up a bit the closer it came to becoming Oslo, but he held a protective arm over his little brother's shoulder, pulling him in and resting the blond's head on his shoulder.

He rested his own head against the top of Bård's.

“Are you doing okay?”

“Oh, yes, as fine as I can be doing, I don't know what we're doing of where we're going once we get off the train but...”

Vegard had it under control. He couldn't let his brother knew that but for once, he had maybe managed to get something under control for once in his life. It was ground breaking, truly, he thought to himself, rather sarcastically. What he'd call sarcasm the other would call wit, and there was just no... there was no in between here, really.

“Try not to worry. Don't worry, in fact. Everything will be fine. It will be smooth.”

He wish he knew a source that could really help them get jobs, that sort of thing, but he didn't, really. All he knew was they would have a place to stay.

\- - - 

It was night in Oslo, it was dark, they stumbled through the city and they pointed things out to one another, just walking in what Bård thought would be some sort of endless circle. He didn't know what to think or expect, but... 

They eventually came to one of the houses, and Vegard veered them off to the side, heading up and knocking on the door, Bård was almost panicked, looking around, grinning nervously, thinking Vegard couldn't be crazy, could he? But when the door opened a man with blond hair answered, a bit long, a dignified touch of grey at the temples, and he laughed loudly from the belly and patted Vegard on the shoulder.

“There you are! It's late, the kids are in bed, I was getting worried for you, ever since you wrote me, I worried for you, but here you are, Ylvis, in the flesh!”

Bård tried to put a pleasant smile on his face, tried to keep things calm and under a veil, but he had no idea who this man was. He looked to Vegard for an explanation, but his brother was too busy clasping the other man's forearm.

“Geir, it's nice to see you. It's been far too long, but since when would I ever leave Bergen?”

“Yes, why would you?”

“My brother here – my dumb little brother – wants to find a way to go to America, I can't help it, but I need to help him. He thinks he'll have the good life there, vaudeville, that sort of thing. Wouldn't he look pretty all dressed up?”

Bård tried to flash a smile, the kind of million crown smile that could only be given with confidence, but he was confused. He hadn't heard Vegard speak this much, act this normal in... he almost could forget the injury, the stick in Vegard's hands, and this Geir, he welcomed them both in to his home.

“The wife went to sleep with the kids, so shh – just be a little quieter in here. Really! America, and you speak English, huh?”

“I think he could learn it, say hello, Bård.”

“I, well... 'hello'?” He softly commented, the e sounding more like hallo, not that there was too much of a difference between the two. Vegard gave a shrug, pointing to his brother, and Geir smiled, this time more reserved, polite, waiting. He reached to shake the blond's hand and Vegard encouraged him, and Bård set his bag down.

“Well, you two are welcome to stay until you find another place. You're a smart man, Vegard, you can find a job – and Bård, you look sturdy, a hard worker, both of you can handle it easily. You may not be spring chickens but...”

The blond almost wanted to scream, he nearly internally was at not knowing what the hell was going on still, where these social skills came from out of his brother, where his brother knew someone from, he found himself the same starstruck little kid that he used to be around Vegard. 

“A thousand thanks, erhm--”

“Geir.”

“Geir. I'm sorry, my brother caught me off guard here, he didn't tell me any of this.”

“Well, you two can retire to the guest room and talk it over, it's late, we can have a late breakfast tomorrow and you can meet the lady and kids – sorry that's about all I can offer you, but give yourselves a day to settle in to Oslo, I would trust Vegard here with my life so -”

Vegard gave him a look and the slightly shorter blond shut up, gave a smile and ushered them upstairs. Bård picked his bag back up, and he let Vegard lean on him to bring him upstairs, and once they both found themselves in the guest room – after some animated chat again between Vegard and Geir – the door was closed, and Bård could almost feel ready to rip in to Vegard. After all, he thought he'd be coming into a city without knowing anyone, with nowhere to stay, no way to get connections...

The black haired man was tucking his duffel bag under the bed as Bård stared at him, and just, there was the entire brotherly moment of not knowing what was going on, what was needed, anything. He dropped his bag and kicked it under the bed more or less, and he was ready to confront Vegard.

Until the other man pulled him in to a soft kiss, cupping both sides of his face, and he had been waiting to do that for so long. His walking stick against the bed, he just gently gripped and pulled closer, closer, and Vegard and Bård shared a small extended kiss, one where Bård could feel his anger bubbling away as he sighed and wrapped both arms around Vegard's waist.

“I love you,” Vegard murmured as he pulled away, and he looked up at the other's blue eyes with a hint of pleading to his own eyes, and he just wished his own wish would be granted. “but any questions you have, can they wait until morning? I'm tired.”

Bård slowly nodded, and – and he didn't know what to do or say, but Vegard sat down on the bed. The blonde didn't know how safe it was, but he sat his legs on either side of Vegard's legs, holding in to his waist, sighing himself while still feeling tired despite all the sleeping he had done.

“You are my entire world. I don't know how you orchestrated this, but I'll ask tomorrow.”

It was true now. They had just what they had brought with them and that was that – they were alone in the world, with their meager possessions, and they'd have to build a life again. Maybe it meant staying in Oslo, maybe it didn't, but Vegard laid down horizontally against the bed, soon enough falling asleep, before Bård rolled over and listened to him breathing.


	12. For what it’s worth: it’s never too late to be whoever you want to be.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bård and Vegard in Oslo, a sex scene, and August arrives. Quote this time from F Scott Fitzgerald, NOT Kafka. Wow. Amazing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I worked on a mix for the story up until... around this point o/ And if you don't follow my tumblr you can see the songs right here!   
> side a:  
> tighten up - the black keys  
> replica - sonata arctica  
> do i wanna know - arctic monkeys  
> the boy who never - landon pigg  
> animal - black light burns  
> night terror - laura marling  
> tapio rautavaara - päivänsäde ja menninkäinen (sunbeam and the goblin)  
> love - sonata arctic  
> understanding love through a singing forest - satanstompingcaterpillars
> 
> anyway... love you guys! ; A; I promise I will work on another Ylvis thing or two...

It was a miracle that first night, that Vegard could sleep at all. Usually he had to lay around in bed for a few hours before he got the hang of it, but he was thankful for Bård being there with him, he was so thankful they were able to get out of the situation they had been in and change it...

Oslo was a place of rebirth, a place where rebuilding was still taking place, a place where apartments popped up all the time and people lived with others like this as if it were no big deal. There were piles of rubble everywhere, but every day, they were getting cleaned up. There were workers working constantly on that, which is how Bård eventually got a job.

Vegard on the other hand managed to get some work as a shopkeeper in a book store, something that sort of suited his intellectual side that was brimming at the surface – plus he could read books when he wasn't working. But when it came to Bård... He wasn't a spring chicken anymore, Geir was right, but he was motivated to make as much money as he could so that he could get him and Vegard away from there.

Every day, he thought of his wife that he'd left, every day, he thought of his daughter that he'd left. But those were things he was going to have to accept that he left in the past, beyond from here, and they'd never find them in such a city like Oslo. They were looked at a little odd for their accents sometimes even, mountainous folk they surely were, right? But they managed to forget all about that.

Vegard was rather stiff still when it came to interacting with people, but Bård didn't ever see him at work, stiffly writing down account after account of purchases and such. It was just at least a situation that allowed him to sit, and he managed to keep writing a bit as he worked away – and Bård didn't know he was practicing English, that he'd found a book and once they had a little spare money he'd buy a copy for his brother... but he was practicing away at it, finding it odd even though it had comparisons to German.

It just allowed him the chance to sit, reflect, and he would write about his day, or mostly about the things left behind, or the war...

There was almost a surreal aspect to it, sometimes he found himself rocking slightly when he wrote about it, but he tried not to write about the incident itself. He just wrote how he was trained, how they taught him this and that... Everything like that, how he was just a man following orders, but if he didn't do these things it could spell disaster for the entire country that he was trying to help.

His English improved quickly, he would rub down Bård's tired and sore body as the other came home from work late, and they'd eat a meal together long after Geir's family had ate. He just couldn't imagine a life without the blond in it, a life where he and the blond even had separate jobs was killing him. They would have to fix that in the long term, but it was the nights especially that belonged to them. 

Bård didn't know of Vegard's dedication, but he sure as hell felt every bit the same in love with him as ever. He didn't know his brother was willing to go somewhere he felt unsure about just to jump into an ocean to do something for Bård. That kind of self sacrifice – well, he knew Vegard was unsure about it, but he wasn't certain how serious Vegard was about going on and managing to do something. It took time for the both of them to learn how they were going to take care of things, and once they had the money, they actually fell in to the incredible luck to be able to rent their own small furnished studio apartment.

Of course, when they were renting the person was rather curious as to why two people of the same sex wouldn't mind sharing such an open space apartment together – but then again, they explained they were brothers, and Vegard mentioned they'd sign papers, but they were saving up to go to America, in his accent that was getting better and more like someone of native Oslo speech every day. Bård froze at the words but smiled and went with it, exasperatedly smiling and giving the other a good time about it.

When they stood around in their own apartment, the two could just laugh with the tiny kitchen, small living area, slightly, well, around the same area meant as a bedroom with a small wall divider up – but they were happy and glad for what they had, when handed the keys and left alone, they held the keys hand in hand together and looked at one another.

“Here I am again, unable to leave the shadow of my brother.” Bård muttered jokingly, but Vegard gave him a serious look, and shook his head.

“I think it's best we don't refer to each other as family, really.”

“Well it's not as if – I don't know, how do you think people would take us being more than family?”

Vegard pinched the bridge of his nose and bowed his head, shrugging, before he let go and just looked around the entire place again. He sucked in a breath and looked to Bård, curious, just as he was curious about the peeling wallpaper from the walls.

“Is your plan still to go to America?”

Vegard asked it quietly, and Bård just laughed, shrugged, and he rubbed a hand through his blond hair that was growing so long it was taking on some aspect of curls to it, and he looked off in the distance. “That appears to be your plan, so.”

“I think life in America may be very different.”

“That's true, but...”

“If you think it is a good idea...” Vegard trailed off in to English, and the younger brother gave him a look of mild shock. Was the other really – had Vegard really been learning English on his own the proficiency he was at? Well, Bård understood the word good, he didn't know how proficient or not Vegard really was, but he noticed Vegard was gripping his hand tighter and he just...

“I think we should easily be able to get a visa to go to America. The right papers, work our way on a boat over there... Don't you think so?”

And Vegard gave a tiny smile, a distant one, and he looked around, his hair a little wild and his stubble a litle grown. He was having less and less incidents where he was reliving the entire ordeal that he went through, and secretly, living with Geir had been hell for him. It'd been a constant reminder of the other man shouting out in Finnish for help, and he just wanting the ringing calls in his ears to stop.

They though, that night, pushed the two separate beds together and laid upon them together, and Vegard, for once, with his cane by the bed, was able to hold Bård close and feel like he did when they were younger. He was able to feel like a sense of safety and security for the blond, holding him tighter and tighter through the feelings he would face himself through the night.

\- - - 

When the season became right for it, Bård announced he was going to work as a boat hand, helping aid them bring in crayfish for the short season that these small majestic delicious creatures.... and Vegard realized just how much time had passed, that it was August already, and he was down for the idea. 

That was, until Bård announced that he was going to be going to Sweden to do this, to do such a thing, and even though Vegard knew that the season was short and maybe, just maybe this would be a little less work for Bård physically.... Well, Vegard needed a cigarette, something he started smoking in Oslo even though they were hard to come by at times. 

“Sweden, Bård, really, why are you--”

“I know someone, Vegard, it'll be fine!”

They argued about ti relentlessly, for hours that night it seemed, because Bård wanted to leave the very next week. There would be no time for them to argue then. He tried getting his boyfriend – could Bård be called his boyfriend? – his lover to see things the way that he saw them, but he couldn't speak up about the fear and worry that he had about his little brother going away to another country, even one so close by, because the last time one of them had left....

They ended up just going to bed together, laying in bed together, and Bård held on tightly to Vegard's hands, even though Vegard might have been fighting it. 

Bård was the one to make the first move, to slowly strip away at the layers of clothing Vegard was wearing, and there was something about it that made the black haired man stiff and a bit uncomfortable. He had always thought of their love as pure and beyond nothing else, something that he could rely on for once, something unmarred in this world that was capable of terrible, terrible things.

He laid he head down against the crook of Bård's neck, and Bård undressed him even further. Vegard was soon naed and clinging tightly against Bård's body, and he just didn't know what to do, what to say, he thought they were still angry at each other, but he led a life of compliance and in this area things were no different. 

The lights were off, Bård was still touching him, Bård trying to get used to the male form.

“What are you doing?” Though, Vegard mumbled soon enough, as Bård's hands wandered down and touched him in a place much more intimate, one they had seen both plenty of times bathing together or else wise, but he was so curious as to what was happening, so confused.

“I don't know.” Bård scoffed, and Vegard just kind of... went with it. He nestled harder against the other, he wanted this, even the touch of his skin against his own flesh, it felt good, it felt nice.

He slowly undressed the blonde too, his shirt, his pants, his underwear – and they laid in bed together, gripping a hold of one another, stifling small little moans here and there. They tried not to breath, tried to swallow the air instead, and Vegard had honestly never even caught himself fantasizing about Bård's body before but here they were now, doing this. 

Bård was the one to spit in his hand and grip firmly against Vegard's flesh, the friction easing with each pull as he did so. Okay, so maybe Bård had done something like this before, maybe Bård knew a little more of what he was doing – but Vegard had no idea, Vegard was just going along with whatever the other man did.

The moans and the sweating and the soon furious jerking of their hands though – they both had needed this kind of release, and hadn't known it. When Vegard cries out and he came in his brother's hand, he squeezed a tighter hold around Bård's self and wanted him to reach that same release, the same sort of feeling he felt when he kissed Bård and felt the salt from his sweat on their lips.

After Bård had came though, crying out in ecstatic joy and pleasure – they both laid on their backs and stared up at the ceiling, Vegard wanting to slide his underwear back on or go jump in the shower or something... but, he had cigarettes on the small nightstand near his bed, and he took one and finally indulged.

“Damn, Bård, why do you have to make everything so difficult?”

“Do I, really?” He laughed it off, and Vegard was frustrated, and he knew Bård didn't like him smoking in the bed but he simply would anyway.

“You'll bring me back some snus anyway, yes?”

“I think I can,” Bård ventured, but he looked over to Vegard and leaned over, kissing him, their bodies a mess and the sheets and everything just a mess – “so does that mean you really wouldn't mind if I went to Sweden, because the price is good, I wouldn't even ask if it wasn't, and just...” he trailed off, wordless. 

“You're leaving me like some damn woman having to wait for her ship boy to come back from sea. I don't like you for this, but.”

He would have to find some way to give Bård the book before then, but surely he could take a little out of their savings. Bård would only be gone a few weeks, and he felt it would be an apt parting gift. It was just one of those things that he felt deeply, and he couldn't exactly explain it – not that Bård would have much time to practice, but then at least at home they'd have a copy of the book. 

“Okay, okay, gee, no need to be so serious, Vegard! It's nothing, I'll be back home before you knew it.”

And the week passed quickly by – and Vegard wrote in his journal, angry scribbles, angry worries about Bård, his little brother, going off somewhere so far and he just simply couldn't handle the very thought of it but he had already agreed to it.

Bård's mind was much more logical at the time, he was thinking, always thinking of ways to make quick money – without touching the money they had already made, see, he had a plan, and that was his plan, no get rich quick schemes or balms or salves or anything like that to make money off of. Good, hard, honest work would get them through to what they wanted in life.

He had to keep treading on with a heavy heart, and try to always look forward to the future, never back at the past. He couldn't look back to the past or the heavy heart he held would just – living the life of a bachelor, more of sorts, with Vegard, that was how he was going to come to salvation. He was silently fully happy, and when the day came...

Well, he wanted to get up and leave before Vegard ever woke up, but he was surprised to find that Vegard was already awake. The darker Norwegian man had a hand in his hand, and he sniffled slightly, just enough, just the passing humidity from the warmth, and he gave a tired, exhausted smile.

“You were going to leave without waking me up.”

His fingers dragged through the long blond hair, and he leaned in to give Bård a reassuring kiss.

“I hate to go, but...”

“There's a package for you to take in your bag. Open it up later. Maybe you'll have some time for it, maybe you won't.”

His words choked in his throat though, and he wanted to say – he'd wait for Bård though, he'd wait forever now they were at this point that they knew they were in love.

So Bård closed his eyes and kissed Vegard again, wordlessly, and nodded, opening his eyes and pushing aside the blanket, and he just got up and Vegard watched a little sadly the way Bård didn't limp at all, but he forced a small smile on his lips, and he just waited patiently. Bård got dressed in light clothing, his bag already packed, and when he looked over to Vegard, he gave a heavy but hopeful smile.

“I – fuck, you know I love you.”

“I do.” Vegard replied, even though the words were like a bullet to the chest, and he laid his head down on the pillow, staring up at the ceiling. “And that I love you too, you know that, yes?” He ventured, and Bård laughed, looking at the floor.

“I'll see you in a few weeks.”


	13. What is the source of your happiness?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vegard and Bård's times apart are very, very different.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has suicide attempt stamped on it, sorry about that

It was lonely for Vegard, unbelievably lonely, and the young man wasn't getting any younger. Vegard was waiting, sitting at home really, finding himself taking in less and less hours at work.

He found his paranoia coming back, but that was just – he may have just been imagining it. A flicker out of the corner of his eye, something like that, he just didn't know, but it made him not want to really work too much or focus too much on things like that. He started making small tally marks in the middle of the calendar at work, and just checking off days that Bård was gone.

Bård, on the other hand, was having the time of his life – he was working with mostly Norwegian folks, the papers had been easy to obtain, and it was work that people didn't really want to do that he was willing to do for the quick cash.

Bård ended up working so hard that first day, it was hard, hard work that he hadn't had to do physical labor in quite a few months. The idea had been fleeting for him when he thought about that – Bjarte must have already gotten married, he took a deep breath when he thought about that and he just had to realize he was in a small room with other men and he noticed it and just laughed it off nervously and came on and went on with his life. That's what they had to do, he and Vegard, and he was thinking of them as a we – the way that he used to think about himself and his little girl.

Again, it was something that could have given him a panic attack thinking about if he thought about too long.

So Bård tried to focus hard and long on his work, he tried to make it to where he was focusing on nothing but his work, and there were even some Finnish workers along there – and he found that ironic, but apparently there had been a lot of migration from Finland to Sweden. Sweden was beginning to become a booming metropolis, a place where things happened, a place where he was told jobs were everywhere and they were getting more and more industrialized.

Bård didn't get along too well with the Finns, but there was a clear three groups on the boat – the Finns, Swedes and Norwegian boys. He thought about Vegard a lot, he thought about his little brother a lot – it's not as if these topics were things he couldn't bring up at all, but thinking of Bjarte and what must have been his bride by now gave him a heavy heart that he wasn't there for any such wedding.

He got along pretty well with the Swedes though, even if they exerted an air of superiority over everyone else for some sort of reason. He felt there was something to the bitter end that there would just be this situation, even though he didn't really want to question it or go any further if a Swede gave him a look.

Mostly he was happy though, the entertainer, the joker, the kind of person who could make everyone laugh despite socioeconomic status and that type of thing. He was just a likeable young man and he had forgotten about this for so long, it made him think of being a schoolboy and when he was able to make everyone laugh.

The work was tedious though, they'd find somewhere with slow moving water, dip down cages and wait for them to fill up - and often they did all of this at night, since it seemed the best time to catch them. For Bård it was sleep during the day, lodging with a few different men who worked on the same boat, and he'd wake up at night and put on a full uniform that looked a little ridiculous that he'd often laugh at.

Vegard couldn't believe though back home how low he was sinking without Bård around. He'd neglect his English lessons, scribble down in angry mixtures of English and Norwegian and miss work for far longer than he was supposed to – he'd probably lose his job by the time that Bård got back. But he tried to explain it to the owner once, just once, because he hated talking about it - 

'I was in the war, I was – seeing a doctor, but he died.'

That's the lie he told with a straight face, and though the owner could easily understand the war part, though he grossly overestimated it and thought Vegard meant he had been in the war, he just allowed another day off at the time. Vegard got awful use to eating just bread, he thinned out a bit, his hair even thinning itself and becoming gaunt overall and looking as if he was sick.

Maybe he was sick. 

After all, his support system had left him, and that was what he really had needed to say – but how could he say something so incredibly what he believed to be stupid sounding? How could he say something that made him look ridiculous? It was a hideous idea, he could never come up with something like that, he could never say something like that.

He looked around the city of Oslo and he looked around it with paranoia, unable to leave the flat at night. The Norwegian man was becoming a mess, and the once – the once he left the house to get something when it was dusk – it was to seek out the comfort of alcohol, so he could go to bed lonely as usual wishing that Bård was there with him.

But the dimly lit cobblestone streets, he looked upon them with such apprehension and such hatred, he looked over everything with such worry and unfathomable questioning that surely there was something wrong with the cityscape around him. It wasn't that there was something wrong with him, it was something wrong with the cityscape.

At least Bergen had once upon a time had a sort of air of familiarity to it, at least Bergen once upon a time he knew what was where and the only thing he knew about Oslo was his little walk from the flat or Geir's to the book store, and to where Bård worked.

He ended up running back to the apartment, closing the door behind him, bolting it, his eyes frantic and wild. He knew that it couldn't be long before Bård was back but there was a panic, a tightness gripping around his heart, and he just knew that he couldn't manage to do this for very much longer. The man needed what he still had close to him, and he closed his eyes against the wood door and ended up staring out toward the door and looking at the twilight. 

The Norwegian managed to wrap himself up in the sheets, take a shirt of Bård's out of the wardrobe first, and inhaled the scent deeply. It still smelled woody, mountainous, but tainted by the city and the people and everyone around them.

One night was especially bad. He ended up sitting up in a cold sweat and rocking back and forth, going and getting his remaining service item – holding it in his mouth, sitting there on the floor of their small bathroom on the floor, and he wondered how long before the smell of decay and death and the blood would attract anyone.

He knew that smell. He knew the smell of the dead. And he just rocked back and forth, trying to sooth himself, but he knew he needed Bård's touch to do so.

At least, that was his sincere belief.

Wrapping his lips around the barrel of a gun had been an experience though, quite something that he'd need to keep on his mind, something that – well, he couldn't go anywhere for help, there was no help for people like him. It was awful, terrible, but he sincerely believed this and at the time it might even have been true. 

The revolver had tasted like metal and he swore blood, even though it was impossible, he'd shined and cleaned the weapon so many times but – he had killed so much with his service rifle mainly, maybe he was imprinting the thoughts of that on to the smaller gun. 

But his breath was heaving and heavy and he ended up just removing it and throwing up a lot – completely crippled by his own mind. Vegard had been in this situation before, where he had used to press the knife to his skin just to feel it hurt, not slicing, not cutting, but just to feel the pressure and it had escalated – but horrible, horrible times were to be had without Bård.

The thing that stopped him, besides the obvious vomiting, was that Bård would probably be the one to find him at their place and find his brains splattered across the wallpaper.

There was something in the feeling that Bård being the one to find him – he just couldn't go along with something like that, as much as he felt like he wanted to die, as much as he could feel the blood still running down his hands and arms and as much as he could feel every bit of it. He just flung the gun on the floor and ended up leaving the bathroom, falling back in to bed with a heavy sigh.

\- - - -

Vegard somehow mustered up the strength to go to the book store more frequently, because what else was he supposed to do? There was nothing that could be done for him, except he thought – maybe he could actually go through with his excuse and talk with a doctor, and so he went through and made an appointment.

Bård meanwhile back on the ship was able to slip some casual English in to his speech here and there, to try it out, and one of the Finns who was fluent would laugh at him, and everyone else thought his ambitions were a bit... star struck. Bård was amazed they could get through without the æ and å and ø though, but there were so many ways to speak English – Bård wasn't as easily adapting to this sort of stuff like Vegard was.

But he cherished the idea Vegard had thought of him, and that when he went back to Norway, he would be able to speak with Vegard a little bit in English. They could practice and – surely other people knew how to speak English somewhere around Norway. He was optimistic and on the verge of euphorically happy at their future prospects together. 

Vegard managed to find a doctor who would speak to him though, and he felt so strange about the entire idea – he felt so strange going to the doctor's office, searching it out himself, and sitting down in the waiting room and waiting and sitting in the doctor's office and sitting and waiting and waiting and...

The doctor was older, slightly balding, and he just stared at Vegard and expected him to talk. For some reason Vegard felt like a child when he was around the doctor, but slowly some parts of the story unfolded. The war injury, the small pension he got a month, the fact he'd have horrible dreams and flashbacks to things that had happened over a decade ago. It just never would leave him, Vegard adamantly insisted, he'd never be free from it, he stood up and stomped around the office with his walking stick, he'd never be free – the only source of his joy was gone and the doctor asked a simple question.

“What is the source of your happiness?”

Vegard stopped and looked down, a little choked up, this fifth or so visit. He had become so numb, so unwilling to external stimuli that he didn't know beyond saying Bård was, and he just....

“The person I love.”

“What about hobbies? Things you did before the war?”

He sat back down and looked around, before looking down and holding on to the stick, and he gave a small little half of a grin and looked up to the ceiling, trying to think about it.

“I didn't have to do much of anything. I liked school. I liked being... with my family. But I can't go back to Bergen. My brother's... he's gone for now, but I'm so lost without him.”

The doctor wrote some notes, and he wrote over his notes a prescription for a medication. It had used to been used for stabilization or sedation, and by the way the Ylvisåker could go crazy or settle down and wearily look around with paranoia, well, maybe this drug would do some help for him even if it wasn't in mass usage.

“Would you mind taking something for your mood?”

Vegard took a deep breath and nodded, looking away, trying not too intently to think about it. He would go to the nearest apothecary and get the prescription, sure, but he held the name of the medication in his hands and thought isn't this just some salt?

But he was willing to try it, if the doctor thought it could help. He still had just scratched barely the surface with the doctor, but when he tried to talk – he got choked up, he couldn't breath, he couldn't communicate at all what he was feeling and he'd just stare off in to the distance. 

It had been used in Denmark all the time, years ago, many years ago he'd heard, for certain problems, and it could cause injury to his kidneys – all this the pharmacist told him, and he'd listened intently and stared, but there was pretty much not much use for it these days, the guy believed. He was willing to try it, not told it would maybe help stabilize out his mood, not told he'd maybe die from it, well who knew, with a medication they were trying for something new. 

The idea gout could effect the brain floated around, possibly this is what the doctor thought of him, but Vegard took the pills and went back to his apartment with them.

\- - - 

He didn't know how pills worked, how medications were supposed to work, and one day he found himself again in the bathroom, a few days later, with cutlery from the kitchen, harming himself and – it was bad, he'd need sewn up most likely –

but it was the day Bård was supposed to get home, something he had entirely forgotten about. Bård opened the front door and saw blood seeping out from the bathroom on to the wood, and he panicked, dropped his bags and ran to Vegard.

“Vegard! Vegard!”

The older man perked up a bit, thinking he was maybe imagining it, thinking maybe it was – maybe he was imagining it this time, and all the smiles and laughter left Bård as he thought he'd lose the other, all the stories he was going to tell, all the stories he had wanted to tell and share about Sweden...

He ran through the streets of Oslo, yelling loudly for a doctor down their street, and Vegard could barely hear it through being up a bit in the sky. He felt like he was in the sky, he did, but Vegard was smiling, peaceful at last, closing his eyes, thinking of Bård and -


	14. but like morning light it scattered the night and made the day worth living

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vegard wakes up in the hospital, he and Bård try to get their papers in check, and - Vegard writes a letter to someone.

He woke up in the hospital, stitched up, an intravenous drip in to his veins, and he panicked and looked around. Bård immediately shifted to the side and stood up, rushing to him, holding his hand and speaking to him quietly, looking him in the eyes.

“Dear, dear, it's okay.”

Bård managed to whisper very softly, and he kept his eyes calm and focused on Vegard. His bright blue eyes, they stared and were weary, and he didn't even want to look up at the blood that dripped down in to Vegard's veins to replenish what had been taken. Vegard bit his lips, he licked them, sucked on them gently, and he gave Bård a longing, apologetic look.

The whispers while half the room was barely covered and men in beds recovering from illnesses and in pain medication, they must not have heard Bård's soft gentle words, and Vegard flinched as he pulled his arm up and rubbed at his sweat laced black curly locks.

“They said you have some doctor, you're on some dangerous medication, I don't know – Vegard, what's going on? What are you doing lately? What are you doing without me? What were you doing without me?”

“No, he said it was – he said it was safe, I don't know, I don't know Bård, I don't know what I was doing without you.”

And they realized with this just what a deep connection they had to one another, and Vegard sat his other hand on top of Bård's, and they just let him hold them together very gently. Bård didn't know what to do or say, but he just sighed, and tried to muster up the strength for the other, and – maybe it was one of the flashbacks, who knows what it was, maybe it was the fact he had left, but he could never leave Vegard again. That much was evident. He never, ever could, he never could – for heaven's sake, if he had left and come back to this, what would happen next?

“They're – they're putting blood in you, Vegard, it should be done soon. We can go home.”

Vegard didn't know what to say or think, he just laid his head back and rested, a fleeting glance up to the intravenous drip to see the blood. 

“You were muttering nonsense, like you found happiness, and – just Vegard, Vegard, Vegard...”

He said the words silently like a mantra, repeating them to himself, as if it gave it more power this way. Bård was sure now, now that the other was awake, he'd be fine, he'd push through things, he'd be able to get away with everything the way that he wanted to. Bård, though, on one hand, wished he was back on the boat, wished he was back around the general populace, communicating and not – not taking care of someone who was – well Vegard wasn't useless, by any means, but...

“We go to America. That's what we'll do. We go to America the second we can.”

And Vegard's chest tightened, for they probably would have been able to already – if he hadn't been sending anonymous little packages of money and things to Marja for her and Ingrid, but Bård wasn't good at book keeping, he wasn't keeping track of every crown they made, he just... Most of their fellow Norwegians had left during, before the entire Nazi occupation, they had fled to places like America, and he just...

“Okay, Bård.”

That was all Vegard could come up with to say, reassuringly giving Bård's hand a little squeeze, and he smiled, smiled so full of care and brightness at Bård, as if he didn't have these wildly fluctuating moods, as if he didn't find himself just angered with no cause, as if he hadn't been in absolute pain – though he knew as his brother, he knew Bård had to know he had been.

Bård could get choked up at that, he almost swallowed down his own breath harshly and felt the tears prick at his eyes – and fuck, he did, he just couldn't help it. He smiled, reassuringly, knowing he had to be the reassuring sort for Vegard. 

“I think that we can maybe... maybe leave soon. With the money I made, the money you made.”

They didn't know of course the US immigration system, that they had tightened up on giving out papers - but they were in the top tier rank of wanted folks, able bodied men who - that didn't even matter as much as where their origin was coming from.

If one of them could get in, the other could get in, being a relative of the other - these preferences for those able bodied men again, Bård could most likely get the papers and then... where would that leave Vegard? Bård was clearly a skilled worker, he had things under his belt now, jobs, real jobs, real manual labor and...

Vegard may have a harder time, but they would work and fight for it, even establish Bård as the one taking care of Vegard if they had to to let them through – such solid, solid state plans, and the Norwegian brothers were as good as all ready might have been being on their way.

\- - - 

Their own history, their own past that they would leave behind, well, damn, Norway had just become independent of Denmark not long before their births – and it was something they still celebrated every year. But Norway was just a bastion of bad memories for them too, and Bård promised, they'd find a way out that didn't include passing through Finland. 

Besides, Finland was so close to the Reds now – but Vegard could at least feel the pride that they weren't a part of the iron curtain themselves, even though no news came out from behind it, especially because no news came out from behind it, and the brothers didn't know they'd be heading for a country where the Red Scare was permeable through every aspect of culture.

But they began slowly to speak English to each other, to practice, and Vegard would chastise and argue with Bård over key points, even though it was so incredibly difficult yet easy, in a way, and after all the blood was cleaned from the bathroom and floors... their lives returned to the way that they had been, and Bård was finally able to get that surprised moment from Vegard when he actually gave the other some snus, some tobacco from Sweden, and Vegard covered his arm over his eyes and smiled, in disbelief. 

He still though, every day, continued to take the medication – and he told the doctor about it, that he was taking it every day, that he had plans to go to America... and Vegard was happy, he seemed at least content, the doctor noted, and he told the doctor that the reason he was usually happy had returned, but...

The doctor worked on it with him, asking him things like if it was a person, suggesting that maybe staking all his happiness and joy in a person was a bad idea – codependent – they couldn't be together, not forever. 

And that maybe this plan of America, this flight of fancy, that well, they'd probably have lesser medical care, that they maybe wouldn't even know of this traumatic neurosis that he suffered from. His inability to speak about it but without sitting down, resembling a statue, mumbling, tears prickling his eyes, as if he were stone and nothing in the world existed – but he could be a lively person besides that, he could be a happy person, he could shake hands at the end with the doctor and thank him for his time as long as he wasn't thinking of it...

But the doctor was hesitant about Vegard's plans, and he didn't really think he could talk the Norwegian man out of it though. He just tried to stay quiet and help his patient with his neurosis, his angry nervousness.

When Vegard got the stitches peeled out of his arm, Bård was there with him. No one would ever think anything of two brothers, caring for one another, and Vegard was getting known around town – he was – for being neurotic, but there was a time after that where things settled down, where he just held on to Bård late at night in bed and held him and let himself be held and just... there was peace and harmony, essentially. 

\- - -

They finally submitted their papers off to America, pleading they were skilled workers that wanted to work in America, in their rudimentary English and they expected to wait some time to hear back from them. 

Vegard wasn't expecting much, he expected maybe to have to apply year after year again, and again, but he was ready to if he had to, since it was what Bård wanted.

He knew though, he knew homosexuality was illegal in America, and he had read some foreign news – they were coming up with all sorts of ways to catch homosexuals, and there were certain cities you could be okay in and some you wanted to avoid – he made note of all of this, even if it weren't from officiated news sources, even though they always first and foremost had the guise, the truth of being brothers behind them so they didn't have to hide as deeply.

“So, Bård, when we get to America, what do we tell them? What do we tell people that we meet? We're brothers, right?”

And Bård didn't know of this, he just thought of America as a perfect haven for his needs, and he just was a little confused – but he laughed it off over his dinner, looking down and thinking about it.

“I suppose we do, I mean, isn't that the story?”

A story. To the both of them it had become a story, a tale, something untrue, they weren't doing anything taboo anymore if they told themselves this. This would be how they hid, and Vegard was fine when Bård said that, because he knew otherwise he'd have to convince Bård to hide.

Luckily, luckily, Bård was the first one to hear back, that they could really use men with his talents, and Vegard read over the letter with him and just – now all they needed was a way to get there. There was the fact they had to wait for Vegard, and when another letter came from America, they were expecting something awful, something horrific, but...

To their amazement, they were both being offered the chance to work and live in America.

\- - - 

As promised, Bård found them some ship to work on to get over to America – but he insisted Vegard be on the ship as just a passenger, it was a passenger ship after all, and he could work, but – he said they had enough, right? And surely, they had enough, enough to survive a while in America too after they moved but...

They packed every small possession they had in to the bags they owned, they bought some bags even to fit more stuff in, they had accumulated an entire pot and a pan and baking dish, not that they ever really did much of cooking, but surely they had other things too – like a cheese knife, possessions, material ones, that they surely weren't going to leave behind. 

As everything was packed and ready to go, they left the bags by the door and fell asleep for the last time in Norway, but Vegard – he stayed up late, just to write one letter, one last letter to Marja and Ingrid, addressing it in fact, to the young daughter.

 

'Dearest child,

you may never understand why we had to leave. You would be best not to ever know. We'll be gone from Norway very soon, and we're sorry for it, papa still loves you very much, and I love you too – we love you without limits, don't ever think we left because we didn't love you. You are this country's future. We're headed to America, and this may be the last chance I get to write you, so I am taking it. Tell your mother we love her too – we love you both, this is my fault though, and I am so sorry. Tell grandma, grandpa, uncle Bjarte and his bride – they are wonderful, they raised us better than this even, and we'll miss our little sibling, but this is all I can tell you. 

Ingrid, minä rakastan sinua.'

 

It wasn't her fault, she was just a child – the emotional aspect hit him, it was his fault, it stung and burned at his chest, but he had to tell her he loved her still – and he did it in Finnish, thinking he was at least writing it correctly.

He never let his emotions out like this. He never did. He just – there was just something that was urging him to, begging him to, and he stamped the letter shut and handed it to a neighbor nearby, asking them to please put it to the post office sometime in the next few days. 

 

The next step now would be something new. With the morning rays, at 6 in the morning, they both boarded upon the ship with worry and fear but most of all, desperate hope.


	15. most of life's greatest lessons are learned through pain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> \- quote by unknown
> 
> America, some PTSD feelings, etc.

Life had not been easy or nice to Vegard Ylvisåker. He ran away to escape feelings at the age of 19 that could have easily been solved by just coming out and expressing them – or could they of? Bård would lay at night and think about this, think about how things had changed so much, and how if it had been when he was a younger guy... He probably would have denied his brothers feelings, shouted them out to embarrass him, made a ruckus and fight of everything and then he would have been sat at home years later with his wife and child, maybe realizing he really did love Vegard.

But no, this was a tale of Vegard Ylvisåker and his post-traumatic stress disorder – there was no predisposition to violence, which was just as equally bad as having one. He had fought off wars and within his own mind, impure thoughts, Bård was sure, but he wasn't quite sure that his brother had been ready for an actual war.

3 months, 1 week and five days... and his brother had managed to go during winter, probably the worst time there ever was to visit Finland, really, but being used to the Nordic cold it probably wasn't much of a factor... 

But there was Risto Rysti and Carl Gustaf Emil Mannerheim, against Joseph Stalin and the entire Soviet regime - there was basically a bleak future at first, before the turn of war began - and well, the Soviets had brought along almost a million people to fight, and the Finns - well, with the volunteers combined, had around just over three hundred thousand people. It was something that definitely pointed to problems...

His brother, fighting for the Whites, on the side where he had the photograph taken of him before heading off to war. Had he shown Vegard that yet? He bet Vegard would recall the exact moment it was taken, but he -- he had also read in the book about the forty three thousand wounded, and his brother being another statistic bothered him. 

Ingrid was born in 1942, and Vegard had come back in 1940, but Vegard was different, Vegard was different during the wedding, Vegard was - the incessant way he carve his own walking stick, the incessant way he insisted he do everything....

And now, here they were, the mid fifties, his brother thirty four years old, himself just a few years short of younger, and - Bjarte, there was a part that mourned in his heart, Bjarte, their mother and father, the fact they left them, and...

This wasn't a story about Bård, but surely they both felt the same way.

And Bård, there had been a time when he had loved Marja, there had been a time when he had... he would wake up with her smiling face as she slept, and he'd wake her gently, and there was so much care and joy he felt to taking care of her in such this way. There had definitely been a time where he had made a family, he had fallen in love, although looking back there was... it was maybe more out of convenience, he had just turned old enough himself to marry, and there were signs that Marja was pregnant...

1955 started on a Saturday, and the second day of the month - the president of Panama had been assassinated at a race track. Bård and Vegard didn't know that, they didn't even know where Panama was, they didn't know who Marian Anderson was when they landed in America and even in the same city, New York City - 

It was incredible, there were incredible times afoot that they didn't know about. They were unaware of the problems with China though, and they had no idea that same November a new war would start, the Vietnam war, but neither of them would end up going into war – it was just another thing, Vegard being injured.

Bård did end up losing his job though and was made to work for munitions to aide the war, later on, of course. But their trip over to America from Norway... They didn't want to stay in New York city, though they did for a few days, but living in NYC was loud and ambitious and trouble for Vegard, of course. Any sort of problems there was with Vegard, they had to move up and leave. 

They were part of 20,272 immigrants that year, and they decided when they had enough money to travel out West - a land where it was named after an indigenous American word for 'clear water', the land of ten thousand lakes, Minnesota. 

This was later though, some time after they had landed in America, and it was really something incredible and amazing to move to such a place with so many lakes and with so many other fellow Norwegian-Americans... which they soon would become, after some time. 

They used their names Vegard and Bård, but one of them had changed their surname unofficially to Madsen – just something to use while they were around others, the fact that they didn't look like brothers anyway something that was really throwing people off of the scent of them being brothers and the fact they kept it low and secret that they were together.

Vegard felt inadequate, always, for Bård, he felt maybe if he was young and in his prime he'd be able to live up to being the perfect partner for the other man. He knew he couldn't be perfect, but he was determined to be the very best that he could for Bård. His English came along quicker and more fluently than Bård's did, and therefore he found some job in a small shop where besides stocking things as they needed to be, he could sit otherwise, even as he made transactions.

Thankfully, goodness, for all the difficulties he still may have had in English, they didn't use a different alphabet.

There were Finnish people who lived here too, in this perfect land of 10,000 lakes – and Swedes, which he appreciated more. But he could have told the Finns about the war, but he never did, but he mainly wanted to go under the radar when it had come to his volunteer work. 

Bård could tell this, could tell this when he looked in the eye of everyone, and sometimes – sometimes, not always, but he could tell people that he had an old war injury and be truthful about it.

It had been so, so many years since such things had happened. But Bård could tell when he got overwhelmed still, Bård knew him in a way that no one else did, he could tell when the other was psychologically too stimulated and he just – he just heavily knew so many things about Vegard, and he even laughed a little at the Americans who would say his name Vegard – slowly and fully, enunciating every letter. There was just something different about it.

He ended up being the one to chop down trees and see them shipped off to some factory where they would be bare, stricken of their branches and so forth – but there was no worry between him about that, they didn't cut down too many trees, just the trees of landowners who had sold their land. Trees were plentiful anyway, but one day he'd have to stop working – his back was getting old beyond his own years.

He thought always of Ingrid in the back of his mind, when he wasn't thinking how perfect his life with Vegard was – how he had a little cabin with him, how it was a short walk from the lake, how they could go there and fish or sit silently and let the words between them go unspoken as they skipped rocks and held hands gently.

Vegard's guitar playing only got better, and so did Bård's – and Vegard would fill up journal, notebooks, whatever, one after the other, sometimes sketching things poorly but... he would throw away the old ones, except for the very first one.

Of course came the day when Vegard found the book, and Bård couldn't even remember if it was again, or what it was – but he yelled and screamed and removed himself to their room to cry a little, just enough to get his emotions out and Bård had not bothered him. This was a story about Vegard after all. His life had been for Vegard since before they left, since Oslo, he had dedicated himself to Vegard! He had thrown away all that he had used to love and he had just.... he just didn't know at the time.

Maybe seeing himself so young, virile and ready to go into action, a bit confused and a bit... sullen, his darker features, maybe that was what had gotten Vegard to go off in to such a fit.

There had to be something, but Bård would possibly never know. There were so many things that Bård would possibly never know, and there were many trials and tribulations yet for Bård to face – like neither of them had known that homosexuality had actually been banished, but they felt like one day, both of them, would have to face up to... something. That they would have to answer for something. It was a spine-tingling feeling, but they had to be ready to go through it when the time came for it. After all, being incestuous brothers who ran away from all their feelings for years and from their families, that was...

Vegard, though. This was about and for Vegard.

They had no idea what they'd have to go through yet, but now was not the time to panic about it. Now was the time for Bård to pace around the small living room and kitchen and worry about Vegard.

Of course the book was old, of course it had a fading cover and well read edges that had been dog eared, of course the pages were beginning to yellow, all of this was truth. There was nothing that wasn't truth about it, but the fact that Vegard was so upset...

Bård expected to walk into almost a bloody murder scene when he opened the bedroom door later, after he had heard the sobs, after they had wrenched at his heart.

And Vegard, he didn't know what to do – but... He didn't even know what to say, he didn't know what feelings he was feeling and he was just exhausted, laying in the bed, before he looked over at his brother, lover, friend...

“I thought I could run,” he croaked out in a sort of sad voice, staring up at the wooden ceiling. “I thought I could run from everything, especially here, we're so far away, and it keeps happening.”

Bård didn't know as to the 'what', what kept on happening, but he approached Vegard and sat on the bed, patting his good leg, and he tried to think about it.

“Eventually you'll... you'll have to own up to what happened. You'll get rid of it, you know what I mean? Once everything is gone, you'll know.”

In a way, in Vegard's heart, he knew what the other meant. He knew what was meant to be relayed and he... he knew it in a way only one of the two of them could know by hearing it from the other.

He looked over to Bård, to the long hair that was just starting to curl at the ends, and knew he needed a haircut. Their life in America had been so fast paced, even though the forests and such looked a little as Bergen did, so far away.

“I've been trying to write about it, I've been trying to get rid of it...”

But maybe it'd be so much harder than writing about it, it was something that Bård didn't know. When he'd sneak up from the inner workings of the ship and sleep with Vegard, he usually caught Vegard putting away his journal, and he knew Vegard had kept working on it, but.. there couldn't be that much to write, could there?

It was something he didn't understand. He didn't understand that Vegard didn't even have the words for it.

He didn't know that Vegard may never get rid of it. It was too tumultuous, to get rid of, it was horrific what had happened, and Bård didn't understand that. He couldn't.

He didn't understand it at all, and that's what broke his heart the most. It wasn't like he was going to be the next person to enlist in the army because of it, but... soon, they could become US citizens, and they had even found a pagan Swede who had offered to bind their hands together – a good friend named David, someone who had been in America quite a while, someone who was a bit odd and eccentric and knew of their love but not of their brotherly connection, but...

All the other could do was pat and rub Vegard's good leg, until he headed up the bed slowly with the stroking and patting and was beside the one he did love, giving him a concerned look and trying his best not to say anything bastard-like – he had found America, he had found English the perfect language to use with sarcasm, and they tried to use English at home at times so Vegard could correct him, help him moreso.

“We'll never have a normal life. We'll never be able to openly walk down the streets, I'll never be able to handle going down a road and thinking that everyone around me, that there may be some enemy up in that tree. When it snows – I will never not worry that there is Russian there, hiding, it's been years and I can't... I can't. It's a part of me.”

“Vegard...” and he spoke carefully, trying not to upset the man. “There were those who lost limbs, lost eyesight, lost so many things, don't you think they are out there still living? They learn to adjust and change to it... what you have, what hurts you now, is your memories. Memories can not physically hurt you. You left that part when you left Finland.”

And he touched Vegard's injured leg, saw the wince his expression held, and gave him a gentle kiss.

“There's no Russians stomping around in white or brown uniforms anymore, there's not enough of a chance of that happening here, no matter how scared some people may be. We are mostly okay. We will survive.”

There was just something in Vegard's mind that had to believe in all that Bård was saying.


	16. '--it became less and less an affair of youth'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Years have gone by, tides have changes, the moon goes through phases, and an unexpected visitor from far away comes looking for something lost.

Although they had built a life for themselves, there were things that they missed over the years – Marja's cooking was one of them, neither of them could do much but campfire style cooking when it came to that kind of thing when they first came out to where they had settled. But they had learned over time, and one of them had even become exceptional at baking, sometimes bartering their bread for other things in the community – their good ole Scandinavian style bread, as close to the dark rye that they could remember back home. It was a well deserved payoff, it had taken quite a while to learn how to do it.

Ingrid's laughter was another.

Vegard's pain never really eased, though, especially with the wars on the horizon far away, and he thought if he could start again, a thousand miles away again, further and further away each time – he'd keep running until he'd have to be on the moon of all things to further his own cause. The doctors in America, when they had seen one, didn't have much more hope for Vegard either, except to give him pills that were more expensive than they had been in Norway...

The old familiar sting kept with him. 

Eventually they adopted another dog.

All of this was absolute useless meanderings of life, a life not spent very well, a life spent fooling around, a life spent.... doing something other than what they should have, which would have been to stay quiet. Maybe they were being punished by some higher power now, maybe that was it, but there was surely something to it, wasn't there? There had to be.

Vegard's own feelings started disappearing with their own little pet, because they'd gotten older, he'd started to realize there would eventually be a life without Bård at some point. A life without his flaxen haired brother he could hardly imagine, but he just had to, and he couldn't imagine living much longer after that. If anything, he wanted to go on before Bård did, because he knew the other would be strong enough to take it and to handle life without him.

It was an awful thought, but thinking of how much free time the other would have, thinking of how well his life would be lived, thinking of how well... he'd be off. He knew it was pain living with him sometimes, it had to be, there was no doubt about it. Bård would be left with an empire of absolutely nothing, and the thought of that happening – well, it was also painful, but the idea that living without Vegard could be better for him...

There was silence for a few days, until Bård was finally going to get the courage to up and ask the other man what was on his deeply contemplative mind. There was always something about the older brother that he would put his foot down and say no to things if he had to, but Bård honestly had no idea what this time there was to be done or said or... anything.

Until, that very night, there was a knock on the door and he didn't get to ask anything. Vegard retired to the bedroom while Bård dealt with whoever was at the door, the weary sigh of age carrying on with him, and he was faced with a young woman at the door, and he feigned a smile and was wondering who the fuck she was, why the fuck was she here, what the fuck did she want –

“Excuse me, if you would just here me out, I've come a long way and I don't want to waste your time, but you may not waste mine maybe--”

She stammered, and the slate blue eyes were pleading from her blonde hair, and Bård was taken aback a little bit, brashly moving aside and letting her in. He lead her directly from the door to the small living area, the cabin almost resembling the one he'd lived in with Marja and Ingrid, and he took the time to listen to this young lady's plea.

“What is it? That accent...”

He recognized it as one that his own voice still held a tinge of – Norwegian, at the least Danish or Swedish, which would explain why she had come such a long way to talk with him and... well, he could hear her out. He supposed.

“I came from Bergen.” She had a small pocketbag at her side, and she brought it to and front, pulling out a small book, some English book, and she pulled out a photograph. “It's in Norway, and I'm just hoping for any information – I had spoken to some people, and they said that during a year, some men arrived here, and I was wondering if you recognized them...”

She turned the book around, and the shock – the abject horror, it was the book, the book Ingrid had found as a child, was this young lady with the pleated braid really – the denial, even when the photograph slipped her fingers and the photograph of Vegard was in his face on the book cover and the photograph of Ingrid as a child, Marja holding her to her side and Bård by their side as well slipped to the floor.

She clumsily grasped for the aged photograph, missing his expression of doubt and grief and anger and shock – all these things slipped into one, and he just... he tried his best to smile, by the time she was sitting up again, and he focused on the book, speaking very, very softly.

“Ah, yes, yes, you must mean Vegard Ylvisåker, the Finnish volunteer. Doing some sort of project on him, are you? I heard he was important.” 

His eyes wanted to betray him, to glance toward the bedroom door, but he didn't dare to.

“He's my uncle.” Her chest and collarbones heaved, her skeleton exhaling heavily, and Bård's lips drew into a tight line. Oh, what the mistress of time could do, he didn't recognize his daughter... and she didn't recognize him. He could lead her astray, that would be best to do, rather than to find a way and to find out the actual truth of the situation.

After all... it would hurt her much, much less, wouldn't it?

“Well, I apologize, but they moved away shortly ago. To the east coast, I think. Or back to Norway.”

But he didn't know what she did know, and that was the most dangerous of them all. After all, the description of Vegard was quite obvious. He had to still walk with a walking stick after all, and he did, and Vegard just... She had talked to everyone in town before she had been led here, and she had wanted to see what he would say, what she would find, what would happen if she just happened to let the photograph slip, and she was surprised – shocked herself that Bård let himself say as much as he let himself say. 

“I'm sorry. I didn't know they had a niece.”

“I was his brother's daughter. His closest brother's daughter – in age. I mean, there's other things in the picture, but let's – let's not go there.”

She didn't know why she hadn't found Vegard there, but her eyes fell to the floor, to the dog that began to lap at her hand, all the way to the other side of the home where the bedroom door was shut.

“Sorry... ...sorry that I can't...”

And he didn't fully know what to say, didn't know how to properly apologize for being absent the past twenty or so years of her life – had it been that long? But to see her now, with her perfect hair and her perfect looks the way her mother looked so many years ago...

How had he not seen it before?

“I'm sorry too.”

She slipped the photograph back into the book and looked up at Bård, her eyes wanting to flow with tears, but she backed up and held them in, looking away to the bedroom door. She wanted to be curt and tense and ask him why it'd been this way, why they'd just left one early morning, why no one had seen him, why she'd had to find another copy of a rare book as an adult and hunt him down from old war buddies through Vegard and then through old immigration records and it'd – it'd been foolproof, there was no other way that who she was looking at was her father, just older, apparently not any wiser, but her father, nonetheless. 

But why hadn't he remarried or something if it was the case that he wanted to move far off and run away from their family? Had he really spent the last few decades dedicating himself to looking after Vegard? 

What was he supposed to be, some kind of nurse? This all just seemed and sounded unfair – it wasn't as if Vegard was really some delicate flower, he'd been a grown man who could easily take care of himself and he had been a... a... did she really remember that much about Vegard or her father? She could remember the screams that scared her, she could barely remember the German occupation, she could barely... she could remember little hints of her father here and there, and it was just heartbreaking to think that this was that very same man in front of her and he was refusing to say anything to her.

“Who is in the bedroom? Your wife?”

A flicker of panic.

“No, no one--”

“Why is the door closed then?”

She was quick witted, she definitely took after her father – and mother, who had raised her the best that she could, alone, before succumbing to an illness around five years ago after making sure Ingrid got the university education none of them had ended up being able to have after all at the times.

“It's none of your business, now is it?”

She put the book back in to her bag and stood up, straightening her green and brown dress, and she looked him squarely in the eyes. She was almost his own height, or maybe he was shrinking a little from age already, but it was just something about the entire ordeal that her blood was about to boil over.

“I think it is, Bård Ylvisåker. Vegard's in there, isn't he.”

By this time, Vegard hadn't known what he was doing still in the bedroom, and he set his journal aside – it was almost as if he could sense the tense air from outside the door. He leaned heavier against the walking stick than he had previously in the past few years to be able to get up.

He was at the door when he head the damning words, and he could only imagine who they were coming from – Marja, Ingrid, one of the two, the past had caught up and it would not be good.


	17. As I grow older, I pay less attention to what men say. I just watch what they do.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quote by Andrew Carnegie - Ingrid angrily and hastily is dealt with for a short while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Has it really been 30 days since I updated this well I can explain a thing cohabitation with a parent and trying to go from writing this and smut and inbetween does not work well for an introvert who feels they must be completely alone to write - so I pushed through that and wrote this at least /o\

Vegard held on to the door knob. He could tell that at the other end of that old wooden door, there laid a life that was left behind. The smell of coffee hit him, something bitter and distinct, something he and Bård both didn't like – but drank sometimes anyway for the energizing effect it gave, and he wondered if Bård had ever put the coffee pot off this morning and he shuddered.

But there would be no use escaping his scenario, would there be? His ears were still keen, he could hear everything that was going on outside the door and he wondered if the young woman would come storming inside. Surely she was upset, there was no delicate way to put things in this kind of situation, but Vegard had to let the blame fall on himself, for it was his fault, it was him that swooped Bård up and away from their idealistic lives –

What kind of idealistic life had he been living actually? There was nothing to it, there was just panic and fighting his own inner demons, and he had never successfully resolved them. So what good could it be to say he took Bård away for nothing, for a life full of solitary trips to the grocery store, for a life full of Bård dealing with most of what needed dealt with, for a life where he just worked himself in a shop and never could really get past anything like he was meant to. 

Or maybe he wasn't meant to, either way, he had to remedy this situation on the other end of the door.

He first rummaged the dresser – there was some whiskey, and he took a deep swig from it, at least a finger's width, and he let the burn encompass his throat and mouth. He ran a hair through his dark hair and he noticed it had been growing wilder like shrubbery, and he just mentally prepped himself. An angry little girl he could deal with, but what if she meant harm to them? He grabbed a knife that he had hidden away, hidden so many times and Bård found them each time, but he kept hiding it away and he took it from it's current hiding spot and slid the sheath and all into his pocket. 

He finally laid ready to meet the beast at the other side of the door – the knife a mere precaution, thinking things were after him maybe, thinking maybe she had a vendetta against him, but he went to the door and slid his hand over the knob again, turning it and pulling inward, going outside to meet the unexpected guest.

At first, Ingrid was shocked – she had been staring at that door, her eyes trying to blare holes through it, but once it was finally opened she barely recognized the man at the other side. In Vegard's head, the Finnish tales of the goblin and the sunbeam were going through his head, and he wondered if she could remember him singing it to her.

But she barely recognized him! But she barely did, and the confusion jolted her bright blue eyes, made her cock her head to the side, made her uneasy and made her worry and fret. Almost she let the word 'uncle' slip through her mouth, but then she decided he wasn't worthy of such a word – no, she would make use of his full first name, because there was no other way to sugarcoat it.

“Vegard?”

And he held shame on his face, as if he knew he shouldn't be there, and that had been the cause of unending struggle and ulcers for him – he knew that he shouldn't have been there, but that he should be somewhere far, thousands of miles away, and he should have never encouraged his best friend, his brother, his loved one to leave their 'post' as father, upstanding member of the community of the town where he was born, none of that.

“Yes – yeah, I'm, I don't know what to say.” He managed to come up with, and Ingrid just stared at him. She was a beautiful young woman, skinny as a stick but beautiful, and Vegard looked down at the floor and away from her because even with him and his walking cane and being as old as he was, he could see that much of her. The little girl that used to sit on his lap was no more but there was something else left in her wake.

In all honesty, wouldn't it have been stranger if no one had tried to find them?

“So you did leave to look after Vegard, you did!” She swung around and her bag swung with her, she had a dangerous look to her face and Vegard prickled, standing up a bit taller, though Bård signaled to him just by putting a hand down low, and the old guard dog stood down a bit, still wary and on edge.

He walked over to Ingrid, clamped both hands on her Finnish-Norwegian shoulders, and looked at her, dead in the eyes, with barely moving his head any – she had grown up to be quite tall, tall and stick like, that was what he'd use to describe her. She didn't back down and she looked almost ready to slap the older man, for all her misguided childhood anger, for all the teasing of oh, her father left her, for all the solemn sad looks of oh, her father left her – but he clamped on to her shoulders tightly, and he wanted, wished for there to still be some familiar touch in them so that she could feel it.

“It was the war, you know he was always different after the war. You know from that book – I'm sure you've read it a million times, how little the Finns had, how little the Finnish had to give, but that so much was taken from them but by some miracle they scrapped together and managed to win --”

“It's not even about the Finns, dad, you had two at home yourself, and of course, we knew there was something wrong with him but did that mean you had to leave?”

Bård was going to continue along the same stream he had, explain that Vegard was a lot better than he was when they were up in Norway, that now Finland was some distant memory, but there was no way to ease the young woman down. So instead, Vegard took the lead, speaking softly but firmly, strong like an oak door yet quiet and protective.

“Look, it was as hard a decision for your father as any. It was the hardest on him. He only did it out of some misguided affection – brotherly affection – towards me, and I should have never agreed or let him leave his family. You're right.”

His way of calming the qualms she had was to tell her that she was entirely right, of course, without spilling much if any about their own personal lives. He didn't think the pause in brotherly affection would effect him so much, he didn't think that it would effect him at all. He just thought that maybe his words were worthless until he waited for her to speak, and her quiet, stifled sobs were enough of a tell to show.

“I just wanted a dad growing up. That's all I wanted. I don't understand.”

Yet she did understand in a way, she had done research, she knew bits of psychology, she had seen and spoken with other veterans and they could all recall knowing someone like Vegard or being 'a' Vegard themselves, and yet wouldn't talk about it. 

There were many different names for people like this, cowards, weak-kneed, many different things and ways were used to describe him, but often times the screaming that Ingrid heard in her own dreams was Vegard's screaming. She looked back and forth between the two brothers, and she didn't know whether she should apologize or she should accept that there was something deeply wrong with Vegard and just leave.

“There was just something I brought back with me that I couldn't shake. I needed Bård.”

“I needed him too! He was my father!”

There was no arguing that, there was no arguing that... but she wanted to have had a father all these years, and irrational as it was, she thought if maybe she could just bring Bård back – then she'd be all fine. She'd have a father again and things wouldn't be as broken up as they were right now. 

“Listen, you're right. But it's late, don't you think? For this kind of talk and for this kind of situation? Maybe if you could come back in the morning we'd have breakfast for you and you could stay a while and we could talk...”

Bård let go of her shoulders, and he took to his seat of sitting back down on the couch, staring at the old floors. Vegard had this one in the bag, so to speak, he felt, and there would be no arguing further tonight, he felt.

“You better have a good reason in the morning for why you stole my dad.”

And Vegard swallowed his own breath hard, and he knew that there wasn't, there never would be, not one that she could at least hear of. There was nothing else he could do, he just closed his eyes and nodded and agreed and promised, but she left the small house slowly.

Finally when they could both take a breath, Bård looked over to Vegard, who was leaning heavier on his cane than usual – these sort of small things, Bård spotted, but he spat out a “what the fuck was that?” question to the older brother.

With wisdom, always with wisdom, the older Vegard just shrugged, closed his eyes, and tried not to lapse into feeling too horrid. They had lived alone and had read the newspaper every day, they had learned so much, they had... They had come across so many things in their time, they had read of the first man to land on the moon and now their entire world seemed to be collapsing in on itself. As their youth was gone, so wasn't their brains, they felt humbled and garbled though by the visit and they felt what a time it was to be alive, when men could walk on the moon – though Bård was skeptical about such things – and what a time it was to be alive indeed with his daughter coming after them. 

But they were good, hardy men, with years left in them, good years, and Vegard quickly retreated to the bedroom – he didn't want Bård to catch him with the knife, didn't want him to know that he had been ready if say, the satchel had contained a gun or something like a young lady should have been carrying on her own. Bård almost wanted to hug Ingrid, but he settled for waving weakly at her as she left out the door, a singular glance back towards him telling him that this was bad.


	18. Where do you get the strength to rise from your agony? - Arved Viirlaid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is it not evident I don't know what I'm doing anymore?

They had cooked a somewhat large breakfast the next morning and sat over it, letting it go cold slightly, all in waiting for Ingrid to show up. 

“She was really beautiful, you know, Bård.”

Bård had shoved away Vegard's hands at that, the moment they had tried to clutch his back and rub at it, as they both were learning the idea of a morning may be skewed to someone who was sleep deprived from travel as she had clearly looked. Her beautiful Nordic hair though, the same shade as her mother's had been, it fell down over her shoulders and Vegard thought she looked like a very pleasant girl. 

She had those sort of golden locks that seemed like only Fennic people had...

But she did show up, eventually, and Vegard went to warm the coffee back up while Bård announced she was coming after having been staring outside the window the entire time. Bård stiffened and waited in his chair, not ready to answer the door, and Vegard looked at the three plates set out for breakfast.

He felt accomplished in his life, with what he and Bård could do on their own, they weren't some campers anymore that could only roast a sausage, they could actually cook and take care of themselves and nobody in the town thought odd of it when they asked for help. They even were giving a young kid guitar lessons, as Bård had slowly taken it upon himself to learn as well.

But inevitably he had to open the door – even though he thought to himself, what if he didn't? Soon enough she was knocking, and Vegard's leg hurt a bit more than usual that morning. The door to their bedroom closed, Bård took off and opened the door.

“Ingrid, come in. We've been waiting for you.”

Bård could have kicked himself then because it just sounded so suspicious – we've been waiting, but what could he do? He forced a smile on his face, the same face that the skin was still taut and looking rather young.

“I nearly forgot where this place was.” She remarked in her native Norwegian, and the tone of the conversation was set. In her mind, it was like telling them that they were forgettable, like she apparently had been, but the brothers were easy to switch back to talking in Norwegian.

This was after all a country of immigrants, and a tongue that they had always felt was not quite so foreign, and what other way to welcome her than this?

“Breakfast is ready if you want something to eat. Some toast or something. You look a little thin.” Ingrid shut the door behind her and her callous icy blue eyes gazed over Bård, and she seemed to cede to the idea of the bacon in the other room smelling pretty delicious. She headed over to the kitchen area and took a seat where a plate was sat, and Vegard looked over to her.

“Would you like some coffee?”

This was all wrong in Ingrid's head, they weren't supposed to be nice to her, they weren't supposed to be kindly and forgiving and acting like nothing had happened but she didn't know how else they were supposed to act either.

“Some would be fine, please.”

Vegard got the coffee for her, his leg stiffer than usual, his entire body moving rigidly. Ingrid decided to look upon him and only see a sullen, pitiful creature, the kind plagued by nightmares that she still clearly remembered hearing the screams coming from him as a child.

Vegard was to be pitied, Bård was to be scrutinized and crucified for his actions.

As she was poured the coffee she looked only briefly to Vegard, and Bård soon joined them in the kitchen. He sat down and Vegard sat down as well, and Bård rather unceremoniously swatted away a fly from the empty plate before offering things around.

This was normal, this was normality, this was the way things would have gone if they had taken Ingrid with them. Could she have ever, ever been taken with the truth though? That the brothers were something more, and no, maybe since she was young she could have been conditioned to think it was okay, but from the mouth of children would come saying words that would give them away, when no one where they lived seemed to care.

“I hunted you down from Bergen to Oslo to here, do you know how long that took?”

“Can't imagine it was easy.” Bård murmured.

“No, it was easy, it was plenty easy, but do you know how long it took? Plenty long.”

“Not even the fake name--”

“Not even the fake name.”

Ingrid was rather pleased with herself, and after many hours of sobbing last night, she at least knew that she was accomplished in that area of life – that she had decided to do something and stuck to it, that after so long her work was coming to an end. The fruition of her hard labors was that she could finally approach the two of them and see what had happened.

“I'm sorry there was so much deceit though. We had to protect ourselves.” Vegard piped in, and Ingrid's eyes only looked over him with pity again.

She had thought about it, and thought about it more, and the one thing she knew would happen was she would find the brothers together, or she'd not find them at all.

“Why, really, is my only question?”

Ingrid looked curiously at Bård's face as she dug into some eggs that had been scrambled for breakfast. Bård had stayed up late trying to think of an answer for her, and he never could quite approach it. It was always just out of grasp, just out of his control...

“You know of Vegard's – your uncle's – you know of whatever took place in him after the war. Being in Norway, things were difficult, things were hard, there was just... no way to continue living a life like that.”

“But you had a family. Why did you run out on us? Why not take us with you?”

Ingrid couldn't handle the truth. Bård's hand was perched on his knee and Vegard gave it a small squeeze under the table, realizing they weren't meant for taking care of themselves maybe after all or that they would never be ready to answer up to something like this.

“Ingrid, you could be my daughter again or you could run back to Norway and pretend you never met with us – but this is just how things went. My brother has always been my other half, since my illness when I was young, I was very isolated and – you just know who was there for me? He needed me. I knew you and your mother could get along just fine without us.”

“But we were your family.”

Bård paused, having to stop himself from going on the defensive again – that yes, they were his family, but Vegard was his family first, he could have said. He could have made his priorities clear with something like that, but he wasn't about to.

“Ingrid, and I loved you both very much. This was just something that I had to do.”

He realized far after Vegard already had that they would just keep going in this circle, they would just keep asking one another why and they would just have to pony up the same response as to why.

Vegard just placed both of his hands on the table, and he looked over at Ingrid curiously. There was just something on his mind and he wondered if it would work.

“Tell me, dear, do you remember the song I used to sing for you?”

And memories of it came flooding to Ingrid's mind, but instead, she shook her head no, and Vegard could see the doubt on her face and feel the indifference she felt by saying no. He just let it slide then, let the truth go untold and watched her focus come back to Bård.

“Why did you use a false name?”

And Bård had given up with it, he knew there was no way to keep good graces and keep the truth laid buried, he just spit it out.

“I use a false name so no one will realize Vegard and I are brothers.”

This was curious to the young woman, curiouser and curiouser, and he just knew she was going to ask why again, so he came out with it.

“So no one will realize why we share one bedroom, why we got a house together, why we are together as we are – because we don't want people to know we're brothers because we've been together.”

Vegard lowered his head and solemnly ate, he could tell that this situation was up to no good the moment it happened, and he knew that Bård's temper would only go so far – but he glanced over at the young girl, her iced blue eyes softening and hardening again, wondering why they would go so far as to do this.

“How could you? The both of you are--”

“--brothers? Yes, that's the entire point, that's the entire reason for a false name. So no one knows. And if you go and tell the whole town – we'll move, we'll find another town.”

His threatening was only half thought out, but the young girl looked down at her food and felt sick to her stomach. She felt almost as if she had to escape, as if her fight or flight instinct had taken in, and she just....

“I loved your mother. But I realized nothing was more important to me than Vegard. I'm sorry, this probably isn't what you wanted to hear, but you shouldn't have tracked us across different continents if you weren't prepared for some serious truth.”

And suddenly he was scolding his little girl like she was a child, and he just – he realized that, and he closed his eyes. Vegard wanted to put a hand on his shoulder, but he decided maybe he could still be a voice of reason.

“There are many types of love, and many ways to show love, but your father never stopped loving you, Ingrid. It was the most painful thing to him to lose you. He never stopped loving you.”

She didn't know what to say. She didn't know what she even wanted to say. At a complete loss for words, Ingrid was stupefied. 

“That's – that's disgusting, you ran away because you were in love with each other? I think I've seen the entire world now.”

She looked and directed it at Bård exactly, looking him in the eyes when she said it. Bård just bowed his head and looked rather defeated, but then he curled his fingers into a fist and hit it against the table.

“That's the way things are. Now you know why we couldn't bring you. Now you know why I left your mother. That's the way things are.”

It was vastly a simple statement, but one that ran deep in it's meaning. Ingrid's pink lips curled upwards, she looked down at the table almost ashamed of her own opinion, and she knew somehow that her father wouldn't be saying this if it wasn't the truth.

If it wasn't what was truly going on.

There was no reason to lie about something like this, and the impact that this had – she held knowledge now. She could ruin them. But the power of having the knowledge was what she was going to do with that, and she gravely realized at that moment that it would be a momentous nothing at all.

“I'm sorry you both feel this way.”

“I think your father is trying not to hurt you, Ingrid, just remember that – we could have lied up and down and said everything else, and that's... that's what I had intended to do, since I couldn't put it anyway else, but you know. Now you know.”

“So the sunbeam really did run away with the goblin...” Ingrid quietly whispered to herself, although it was heard by all parties present. But to Ingrid, it made perfect sense – the way that Vegard was going to describe it would have done the trick in a more low key way, but now she knew why he asked if she remembered the song. 

“I was going to tell you that.” Vegard looked down, realizing just what had been killed in Bård's life. Ingrid showing up on their doorstep was just another sign, another sort of momentum that something had happened. 

“I know. I mean. Fuck. I figured it out.”

“I'm sorry, Ingrid. I'm sorry for stealing him.”

Ingrid looked over to Vegard, her uncle, and she cautiously made a statement that was rather surprising to both parties.

“Well, he was yours first.”

Just as Bård got the courage to lift his head again, Vegard lowered his, and Bård squeezed Vegard's leg. There was something very cathartic in hearing those words. They could feed off the energy one provided the other for ages, just like they had been doing for ages, and all would be alright...

“I just can't believe it. I'm sorry.”

Vegard glanced upwards and he gave a slight shrug, slowly placing another piece of egg into his mouth. With Bård's strengths strengthening his own, there was nothing the two couldn't do together. But Vegard wanted nothing to do with hearing slights about their relationship, he wanted to be left back alone to his own doings.

“Well, we're sorry too, but that's how things are.”

Ingrid stood up from the table, her tousled hair falling back behind her shoulders, and she abruptly turned to Bård.

“I'm guessing it would have been better if I never came here.”

“I love you, I do. I never stopped loving you.”

She made a dash for the door and they both let her, Bård feeling like he was crumbling to pieces when he could feel Vegard's hands against his cheeks, holding him and comforting him. They lowered their foreheads until they touched, and that was that. That was the year Ingrid came to visit, and the year Ingrid left very angrily.


	19. "You are so brave and quiet I forget you are suffering."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> END OF THE STORY - MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH WARNING.
> 
> A brother stays by a brother till the end, a lover stays by a lover till the end. 
> 
> Check out the two soundtracks here, coincidentally split up in parts for when they're in Norway versus leaving it:  
> Soundtrack A: http://ylviscestisbest.tumblr.com/post/99321115407/1-tighten-up-the-black-keys-2-replica  
> Soundtrack B: http://ylviscestisbest.tumblr.com/post/99331039132/1-clarity-sam-tsui-kurt-schneider-cover-2

It was eventually going to be a heart attack that did him in, but pulmonary edema was what started it off. What started that off, they didn't know, but there was just a time when they knew Bård was sick and they tried all kinds of things. 

They first started off with ginger tea, something that they thought would just break up the 'mucus' in his throat from his deep throaty coughs – but that was of no use. They went through various herbal teas before they went to a doctor, Bård suffered at that time probably more from ingesting things with horrid names like slippery elm, the taste of which was pretty bad.

Vegard did some head hunting through Norwegians who still had contact with Norwegians back in Norway. He had an immense bad feeling about this, and they had just laid their dog to rest too, their fourth or fifth one over the past few years. They had all lived long lives, Bård and Vegard had lived long lives, but this was something that there would be no springing back from. Vegard didn't know it at the time, but he wanted to get in touch with Ingrid, see if she would send a letter to Bård, just for comedy's sake even.

The doctor could hear the crackling in Bård's lungs when he breathed, he could hear the rattling of his breath, he could all but hear the fluid in Bård's lungs. An x-ray quickly showed that though, and it was strange, for a man who had only occasionally smoked, strange to be coming at such a sudden time, but...

Vegard stayed with him to every doctor's appointment, he stayed with him through every test and new rapping at his ribs and checking him out. This was years after Ingrid's visit, this was something entirely new, this was something he didn't want to miss any second of being at Bård's side.

And yet Bård would smile and play it off, he'd joke about it inappropriately or make light of it, go on and never think that it was all the constant smoking he was exposed to everywhere he went. 

There was something that started happening if your lungs kept accumulating fluid though, they could be deprived of oxygen and begin to die within your own body itself. Vegard certainly had never heard of it before, never knew such a thing could be possible, but he started burying his nose in books while half curled up besides Bård in bed 

He needed that physical closeness to Bård, he needed that physical connection to him. He needed to be wanted and loved by Bård, he needed to be with him until the very end. They may have never gotten married, that may have entirely been out of the realm of possibilities for them, but it was such a strong instinct in Vegard that he knew something bad was going to happen.

Finally, the darker haired man was given an address by someone, and there was a look of suspicion – 'Ylvisåker? So she's related to one of you?' They had been known as a pair this entire time, and even though some of their friends had passed, their friends would fight for them to be left alone by the time anyone ever questioned it. They had earned it enough so, enough people believed. And Vegard, a war veteran no less! He definitely had earned the right to do whatever the hell he wanted – especially with what he had lost with his limp and the panic strewn about his face on bad days.

But Vegard had just nodded curtly, and the associate didn't push it any further. That was how things were in the general immigrant community – you didn't ask questions unless you really wanted an answer, and if you were blocked from that, you stopped wanting it. 

So unbeknownst to Bård, Vegard penned a letter to Ingrid, in scrawling Norwegian, trying as if it was a long lost language to him.

'Dearest Ingrid,

I can not say in the end I know what you lost out on. You lost out on a father, whereas I always had one to be by my side, teach me things, lead my family. But you still had your wonderful mother until the end of her life, and this is in my regrets why I am writing to you.

Bård, your father, is becoming very ill. I fear even now I can hear him cough a fit up here and there in the other room, and I do not think you would like to hear that. I just write to beg to you, plead to you to write one last letter to your father while you have the chance.

We'll talk again,

Vegard Ylvisåker'

After he went to the post office and paid the postage price, he felt a bit ridiculous the coming days – Bård seemed to be getting better even, one day, he even took out a rifle and shot a fox in their front yard that was rooting through a vegetable garden, looking for tender young things.

It was spring. Bård hadn't shot a gun in ages. It was a small millimeter gun though, but still, the thought that he could get out on the front porch and do something without an obstructive coughing fit was a comforting fit. Vegard heard the gun in bed and he shot up though, heading outside to curiously see what was going on.

“Fox.” 

Bård simply stated when the other opened the front door, and Vegard felt a little sympathy for the animal. He didn't pray though, he never prayed, he had never been brought up religiously, but part of him felt compassion for the small red fox. 

“Rooting through the garden?” Vegard had hidden his knife in his sleep shorts in case, and he had hobbled to the door as quickly as he could. Bård nodded and Vegard sighed, heading down the steps as quick as his old body would allow him to as Bård's finger moved off the trigger and he eased up from leaning on the side railing. It was a different experience, now, hearing a gun go off, but as long as he knew it was in Bård's hands, he knew he would always be safe.

“I'll take care of it, don't worry. I guess that makes fox meat for lunch.”

“If you want. I never really liked the taste, but...” He trailed off, and Vegard headed out to the garden to retrieve the body. It was much different, he felt, then being on some battle field. It was true that they lived in the middle of nowhere, it was true that they heard gunshots go off every now and then and Vegard would freeze up, but this was just a walk to the garden.

A bullet to the neck. Vegard's chest tightened a little, it made for quite a bit of blood. The bullet had gone completely through and had grazed some squash blossoms, but they would still hopefully go off without a hitch as far as growing was concerned.

He dragged the thing out to the woods and field dressed it, skinned it, brought it inside to wash off the knife and the corpse. Vegard felt that there was one secret Bård could handle knowing yet, the fact of the knife still existing, not knowing Bård had known. The blond had always known. It was just the mere fact that as long as Vegard wasn't hurting himself with it, he was fine with it. Still, Bård found he was obligated to say something about the knife as he sat in the kitchen.

“So, that old thing. What if it'd been an intruder? Wouldn't it have been better to grab a gun and join me outside?”

“Who would intrude on us, Bård, we know everyone in the community.” Was his retort, although the tightening in his chest felt a bit more prominent. There weren't many secrets you could hide in such a small home after all.

“A stranger.”

“Right, because the Andersen's aren't the first they'd come across then. Come on, at least we have some food now.”

“The minced beef in the fridge is going to go bad though, we better cook that for dinner.”

This had been their repertoire for so long, domestic and a bit chiding, always on the light hearted side. It was so much for them, it was their world, it was enough to where they didn't want to have to give up anything that they had. The impermanence of life had never sneaked up on them before, even though they knew life wasn't permanent, they took the lives of animals here and there. But of their own lives? It was something Vegard had to contemplate a lot lately.

“We'll take care of it.”

That was about it. A 'we'll take care of it'. As in, together. There was nothing they couldn't do together. 

Even with Bård's own body trying to kill himself, there was nothing they couldn't do together. 

The rest of the day went by uneventfully – the sensation of Vegard's chest happened to pass by, with time, and he found that's how things normally went. He could have gone to a doctor by then, could have gotten a prescription for an anxiety medication or something to take when he needed it, but why, what could some doctor out of medical school understand about the hardships of seeing two wars, even if you were entirely useless during one of them? What could they empathize with about being useless during one of them?

Ingrid's letter crept along at the slowest of paces, the letter Vegard had sent to her. It would be quite a while before she received it.

But one night, Vegard finally decided to speak up and hope Bård would listen. He didn't know that oxygen was being deprived from the blond's very lungs, that there was hardly any hope left for him at this stage in the game. Could they have drained the fluid? Maybe in a bigger city, they couldn't just cut into his lungs in such a small place without risk seriously damaging him.

“I'm afraid sometimes, you know.”

It was creeping up on summer and they were in bed together with mugs of tea, and Bård looked at him startled. Vegard slowly put down his paperback, Bård did too, and they looked at each other, really looked, and the intimacy in that moment was immeasurable.

“Yes? No, no I didn't know, but why? Of what?”

“That you won't wake up in the morning. Or your coughing will get so bad you'll fall and that's not all that will happen – you'll not recover from the fit. It's getting there, Bård, slowly but surely, it's getting there.”

“I'm fine, Vegard. Don't worry.”

“It's my job to worry about you. I worry even when you jerk in your sleep – and I know you do that, I've felt it a million times, seen it a million times, but I still worry when it happens. What will happen to me when you die?”

That was it – that was a question that could pierce through to Bård's heart, even if it was in a rather unmade manner. He licked at his lips and bit them, a habit he always saw Vegard doing through the years, even if his elder brother was mostly gray now, never letting his stubble grow out because the grayness would be even more prominent.

“I'm with you until the end. After that, I'll stay with you.”

It was a weird statement to think up of, when he thought about it, when he had actually stopped and for once taken more than a moment to think before he spoke. What an idiot he'd made of himself, he thought, and he was driven not to do so again.

“Look, Vegard, I'm okay right now. You have me.”

“But when I don't.”

“Don't think that far ahead.” Bård suggested, although it was a poor one. Vegard had already had it on his mind for most of the time through Bård's illness, and it was creeping back up on them like the summer heat was.

“I can't help it, I can't help but worry for you, and you know that. Just – what do I do?”

“You continue to live. You meet some nice girl--”

Vegard hit him right in the arm with a rather stern look on his face. He wasn't going to put up with such a nonsensical scenario, and they both knew it, they were in their golden years and this was pretty much the end game for both of them.

“You just... continue to live, Vegard. I don't know what else to say, I'm sorry.”

He tacked on the sorry as a way of apologizing for his attitude a moment before, and Vegard huffed through his nose, it being more than enough to satiate him for the time being. 

He just still didn't know what he'd do with Bård gone, was the problem.

Vegard spent the night long after Bård had thought he went to sleep studying the other's face – his dirty blond hair had faded out some, and he spent the night learning every curve and contour of his younger brother's face. It had changed through the ages, of course, now that they were both old men. But he wanted to be careful about this sort of thing, he wanted to deeply ingrain this Bård in his memory, as freshly as the younger Bård he always saw in the mirror when they brushed their teeth together in the mornings.

\- - - 

By the time fall came around again, by the time they could get around to harvesting their vegetables, Bård reported a tingling in his arm. He said it started at his fingertips and shot through to his elbow and up everywhere, but Vegard was ultra vigilant – if Bård was saying something, Bård may have once or twice complained too loudly about mashed potatoes making him sick, but a numbness in the arm? That was strange and unusual.

His nausea at lunchtime was more usual, Bård and Vegard both wrote it off as being close to the glass of milk Vegard was drinking. Some of it must have gotten too close to Vegard's food or something – but by the mid afternoon, Bård could hardly breath.

It wasn't from coughing, either, it was from some tight feeling of his chest he reported as he fell to the steps of the front porch. Vegard grabbed one of the canes he had accumulated over the years and gave it to Bård, to allow the other to walk quicker as they made the trek they always did into town to hound down the doctor's house.

It was a Saturday, their doctor was a nice younger man, but not by much, originally from Sweden, just a few wisps of hair covering his head combed over – thick glasses accentuated his face as well, and he was surprised to see the duo on his doorstep when they finally made it there just in time for Bård to be keeling over with his lack of breathing and pain that was radiating from his arm to his jaw and back.

The doctor heard the few, few things, and quickly ushered them into his car. He drove them personally as they both sat in the back seat, Vegard coddling and cuddling the younger brother. Wasn't it supposed to be those who were older to go first? Was this it? Bård's hand grasped at Vegard's and his other gripped at his own long sleeve shirt, around his breast bone, and there was just nothing to be said between the two. 

They still spoke however, Vegard's eyes glazed over and insisting in hushed Norwegian that things would be okay, everything would all be okay, it all had to be. He didn't know they were being driven to the nearest big city, to the hospital there, so Bård could get checked in.

A smoking nurse outside the emergency room dropped her cigarette and extinguished it as they pulled up, evening setting in, and Vegard read the words over and over – emergency, he remembered it from an English dictionary, probably the first time he had ever come across the word, so different from their own word for emergency. 

His eyes flashed through but he stayed grounded, helped Vegard out of the car – as the Swedish doctor identified himself as such, and that was the first time he had heard it. One of the first times he'd heard the doctor speak besides occasionally asking if Bård was okay on the drive.

“I'm a doctor and this man, I'm fairly certain he's having a heart attack, he needs immediate medical attention.” 

Before they even got out of the car, Vegard heard it, and he gripped his walking stick and helped his little brother out of the car. It was one of those long and slow affairs, the symptoms slowly worsening, and Bård was just about gasping for breath now. The nurse took a hold of Bård's arm and took him to a wheelchair, along with the doctor, helped him to the seat.

And then Vegard couldn't see him anymore, after a certain point, when they took him back through the big doors with windows on it. He couldn't see him after a turn they made and that was that.

He numbly hobbled over to a chair and took a seat in the plastic contraption, not knowing that not having the fluid drained from Bård's lungs had turned it into an affair where his lungs were always on the brink of death and it became too big a drain on his heart. He thought about his family back home, how their parents must have died, maybe there would be an answer laying in that, but – no word from Ingrid, and he just was stumped.

However, as the night drew on, the nurse returned to her station manning the front desk, and Vegard quickly found himself agitated and springing up from his seat as if he was 20 years old again and headed over.

“When can I see him – when do I get to see Bård?”

She looked at him very hesitantly, but eventually after sending him to sit back down, before she was to go home for the night, she said – she said she could place his accent still, after all these years, and she had the nicest Danish neighbors that she'd let Vegard go back there. She assumed them to be coworkers or something, someone who was just there at the opportune moment, she rambled on and on – she was a young one, she was. He didn't bother correcting any of her misconceptions, his own mind swimming.

Bård was not there at first, he was off having a test done, another one, and he slowly sat down in the plastic chair of that room. He swallowed his own breath a few times, not knowing the heart attack had finally gripped Bård, but wouldn't be what would kill him. It was just another complication in a long line of complications, but it'd be a complication from the heart attack to kill him within the next three days.

He didn't know. How could he know? Was he the grim reaper, able to see everyone's death written on their foreheads? He stayed in the hospital in the same room, he stayed in the hospital when Bård was moved to intensive care, and he learned what the machines were for, long after the Swedish doctor was gone and all he was left with were Bård's jokes about mortality which would always get a side eye from Vegard.

After he learned what the machines meant, some far seeming time after that, the one monitoring Bård's pulse died out right in the middle of a midday nap.

The leaves were on the ground, it was the season for hot coffee and scarves, and Bård's pulse died out. Vegard immediately shot up, shouted in Norwegian at first, then remembered place and time and shouted in English for help, but there was no help to be had after that, even though the image of so many people standing over his loved one's body would be ingrained in his mind like a bad record that kept skipping.

They tried to open his hospital gown, Vegard kept shouting, screaming, until his voice was hoarse, but the nurse meant to usher him out of the room was too sympathetic to do so. He was screaming about anything and everything, most especially, 'you can't let him die'.

You can't let him die.

The last words Bård had heard would have been Vegard reading to him to put him to sleep, the last time they had exchanged 'I love you's would have been that morning, the last time they held hands, just shortly before Bård fell asleep.

It was a complication of a complication of a complication that caused it.

\- - - 

The next few days went by like a blur. There was nothing to be done but everything – flowers to be ordered for the funeral, for example. For goodness sake, at least they had lived thrifty lives, Vegard hired someone to do all of this for him. He made his way back to his own little town with the assurance Bård's cold body would end up there, and they had a wake for him, open coffin, with the most unsettling expression on the younger man's face.

They put Vegard in the ground, the entire community that they had grown so close to, and Vegard moved through life like he wasn't alive.

When he was alone, when it was over with, when he was alone with his mind and his thoughts that were louder than anything, he tried to do it.

He tried with intent, starting up his arm and slashing down the middle – but he couldn't. He remembered the words that Bård had said, he remembered pressing a kiss down to Bård's cold forehead, he remembered everything, but most of all, he began to remember when Vegard said after Bård died, he'd live.

If he killed himself, he would just be crushing the last prophecy – no, the last dreams and hopes of his brother. He stopped, took a few intense shots of strong alcohol, and stitched his arm up rather proficiently.

He was hurt and numb, but if he could start again, he'd live life exactly the same.

Because after all the things that had happened, after all they had gone through, after all he had seen and endured and after all he had put others through with his pain, he would be the man who lived.

\- - - 

It was spring again by the time a very angrily scrawled letter came addressed to Bård.

It was like getting a letter for a ghost – two season's had passed. Two. Half a year had come and gone, but he shakily opened the letter, seeing it from an Ingrid Svensson, and he had almost entirely forgotten.

With shaky hands and tears daring to creep into his eyes, he opened the letter and read the Norwegian.

'Dear father,

I have wrote you so many times my hands are numb. Yet you never once answered back. I have tried to tell you, I have laid the past to the past. I may not want you around, but there was a time when I could remember you as my father and I'll keep those memories. 

Why do you never respond? I'm so angry at you for that. You could at least be nice to me. I trekked alone all the way across a continent to find a flight from London to New York and started at Ellis Island to hunt you down. Do you know that was not easy for me now?

I have a daughter now. She's beautiful and she shares your hair color. I guess I will only tell her stories of my youth and stories later of seeing my father and his lover when she's older, but I will not tell her what happened and who Vegard is to us. 

I'm about to have a little boy. I wonder even now if he will be more like you, full of comedy and laughter. Daniel is good at that sort of thing, but I take more after mother.

Can you believe perestroika is coming to Russia and it's other states? They say soon enough the entire Soviet Union should fail. 

I don't know why I bother with you. I've tried a million times.

Your daughter,  
Ingrid Svensson'

There were a few tears on the letter by the time he was finished with it. So she did try to contact him – it just never got through. What an absolute waste, a shame.

But what a time it was to be alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't pay much attention to the med info. For some reason I found out pulmonary edema is a possible side effect of a type of cancer if I get it (in relation to my basal cell). I didn't know I was going to use it. I don't know how Bård died. I realize now he died kinda young but c'est la vie, non? They still lived a nice almost seventy years together altogether if you use the story hints from the very beginning of them being infants onward. 
> 
> Humbae, that's why I needed a Swedish name. I'm happy to have dedicated this to you. It was most certainly my pleasure.
> 
> Been a hell of a ride kids. See you next time.


End file.
